


Ten Prides In Portland

by leiascully



Category: Leverage
Genre: Ace Spectrum Parker (Leverage), Bisexuality, Eliot Spencer-centric, Internalized Homophobia, Interracial Relationship, Minor Sophie Devereaux/Nathan Ford, Multi, Polyamory, Queer Culture, Queer History, Queer Themes, Threesome - F/M/M, You will probably cry but it's a happy story, ménage à trois, surviving to thriving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24798097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: Ten years of Pride Month celebrations at the Bridgeport Brewpub; or, How Eliot Spencer Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Being Queer; or, The "Be Gay" Part Of Be Gay, Do Crimes.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Parker/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 430
Kudos: 426





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: post-The Long Goodbye Job  
> A/N: It took us a week and a half to watch the series and then I sat down and wrote about my feelings about Eliot Spencer for six straight days. This is a story about being a Heartland queer, about God and guns and flags, about fucking up and coming to terms with it, and about slowly growing into a better person. There might not be as much about Parker and her sexuality and whatever other factors go into a character as complex as Parker as some people might want, but I've tried not to neglect her. She is an integral part of this story, but it isn't her story, because I don't know how to tell her story. But I've tried to treat her with the deep respect and love that I have for her, and if she's lighthearted, it's because she's pouring most of her serious energy into Leverage International in the eleven months of every year I didn't write. The brewpub is a playground of sorts for her. 
> 
> I couldn't have written this story without my wife [coffeesuperhero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeesuperhero). At least 10% of these words came out of her mouth. She talked me through the dialogue and re-read my drafts and stayed up stupidly late with me sharing OT3 feels. <3
> 
> This story is finished. I'll be posting it in ten chapters. The plan is one a day.

They'd promised themselves to each other, one night between Boston and Portland, or maybe a hundred nights. Eliot wasn't sure. It hadn't started out as a romance. It had just been the team. The new team. It was clear that Nate and Sophie were on their way out one of these days, and that future loss had altered the balance of things. It had been the five of them, rock-solid. Now it was Nate and Sophie, cutting one tie at a time, and Hardison, Parker, and Eliot, still tethered to the work. The three of them had reached for each other, steadied each other. But the promises they made each other weren't vows. Yeah, he loved them. Hell, maybe he was a little in love with them, something more than friends and less than lovers. That happened in his line of work. They had no choice but to depend on each other, and that kind of trust, that absolute bone-deep certainty, felt like love sometimes. But cubic zirconia looked like diamonds, and Eliot knew better. So one night laughing with them until he had tears running down his face, a hundred nights staying in just because he wanted to know what they'd all do next — maybe it was love, but it wasn't that kind of love. 

Hell, he realized one night, or maybe a hundred nights, in a hundred little ways that added up to nothing because he always rounded down: it was that kind of love. He just wasn't the man for the job. He wasn't likely to have long-term to offer them, despite how good they'd gotten at pulling each other out of the fire. He didn't know if he had a heart that could hold two people at once. He'd shut down his heart in sections, sealing off each compartment like a sinking ship, in the name of higher causes. 

They'd moved in together when they'd made the shift to Portland. It was a big damn building and the apartment was the entire floor above the brewpub. There wasn't any reason to find his own place. There were four bedrooms and three of them, and Parker and Hardison had started sharing most of the time, so it wasn't like there wasn't space for him. It should have been annoying to live with a couple, but they knew how to make room for each other in much smaller spaces than that. Eliot tried to balance how natural it felt to enjoy their company with the time alone he knew he ought to give them. Yeah, they were three, but they were also two, and he was the odd one out. Hardison had been gone on Parker so long and she was just starting to learn how to give some of that back. Eliot wasn't going to get in the way. He'd done a lot of inexcusable things in his life. He'd save his sins for the moments that made a difference. 

So he tried to find excuses to go out, to leave them alone, and they kept inviting him, including him, like they wanted him around. Like they wanted him, thought his traitor heart, and Eliot locked the notion away in a place that would set off the alarms if he reached for it. It was the work, he told himself, the danger-bond. He felt the same about their team as he'd felt about his unit in the army, pretty much. He'd go anywhere for them, do anything for them, no questions asked.

Except that it wasn't the same, and he knew it. He liked Nate, but he didn't wonder what Nate was doing when he wasn't around. And as pretty and smart as Sophie was, he didn't want to spend all his extra time with her. Yeah, there was a time he would have kissed her if she'd asked him, but the fact that he hadn't didn't gnaw at him. He'd missed her while she was off finding herself, but he'd dealt with it. It hadn't felt like when Hardison had been buried, like Eliot was running out of air too. It hadn't felt like the dizzy terror of almost losing Parker to the Steranko or VerdAgra's burn room. He had to keep himself from reaching out to them, filling his free time with women and work, because left to its own devices, his mind kept making plans for a future where three was the magic number. More than once, in bed with someone else, he'd thought of them. Both of them. Sometimes he watched Hardison's nimble fingers moving over the keyboard and felt a sharp aching desire. Sometimes he wanted to be the point that Parker anchored herself to. 

The night they first slept together wasn't anything different from any other night, except that Parker, perched on the counter while Eliot cooked, pulled Hardison in for a kiss, and Eliot turned around from the stove and saw them. Watched them. The way their mouths opened, gentle and trusting. The way their breath quickened. A jolt went through him, all that nothing finally adding up inside him. He dropped his spoon. They both turned to look at him, eyes dreamy, and he just about fell to his knees with how much he wanted them. How much he loved them.

Parker held out her hand without saying a word. Eliot took it and let her tug him closer and closer until his belly was pressed against her knee. Parker patted his head, running her fingers through his hair, and drew his face up for a gentle kiss. Then she turned his face toward Hardison's and Eliot kissed him too, softly at first and then more and more fiercely. As they stumbled out of the kitchen, he managed to remember to turn off the stove. It was just kissing at first, but it went on for what felt like hours. They had to order Thai food because they'd all been starving after, too dazed to finish anything else they'd started.

"You don't have to look so damn surprised," Hardison told him as they each tried to give the other one the last spring roll. 

"We've been trying to tell you for months," Parker added, solving the dilemma by taking it herself. 

"I'm not the smart guy," Eliot said. "You two are the brains of this operation. I'm just the muscle." He looked at Hardison's chest and Parker's arms. "Some of the muscle."

"Maybe we should have some kind of sign," Parker said. "How much would it cost to get a marquee that says 'Eliot, please be our boyfriend'?"

"I think it would be a worthy investment," Hardison told her. "Otherwise, he might not get the message."

"Boyfriend?" Eliot sat back. "I didn't know boyfriend was on the table here." 

"Did you think this was a one night stand?" Hardison asked. "We've been working on this pretty much since we got together while you were preventing World War V or whatever." 

"Everybody likes to spice things up once in a while," Eliot mumbled. "Doesn't mean you want to keep me around for longer."

Hardison raised his hands in confusion. "How," he said, "how do you not realize this entire place was just Eliot bait. We bought you a brew pub. I don't know anything about brew pubs. We put a punching bag in the office. These hands don't punch things."

"Eliot, you _live_ with us," Parker said. "I'm not like the world's greatest expert on relationships, but it kind of seems like you were already our boyfriend. You just never kissed us. Now you kiss us. I think that's better. I mean, it seemed like you liked it."

"I liked it," Eliot assured her fervently. "I liked it a lot." 

"So let's just keep doing it," Parker said. "It's not that hard."

"Dammit, Parker, it is that hard," he said. 

"Why?" she asked.

"Because...because the two of you have something good," he fumbled. "I don't want to throw that out of balance. A relationship with three people probably doesn't work the same way. It's like cooking. You add the wrong ingredient or the wrong amount and it ruins the whole thing."

Parker made a face. "You're not cooking us." She paused. "I hope you're not cooking us."

He sighed. "If this goes wrong, I don't know how to go back to the way it was before," he said, looking up at them. "And that's a fucking stupid thing to say after a couple of hours of kissing. A couple of hours of kissing doesn't mean anything."

"A couple hours of kissing and five years of getting to know each other inside and out," Hardison said, watching him. "You can't tell me some of that wasn't foreplay."

"Why doesn't it mean anything?" Parker asked. "It means something to me."

"That's not what I meant," Eliot said. He gestured at nothing, at a loss for words.

"Hey." Hardison put his hand on Eliot's knee. "This is the moment. If you're in, you're in. We move forward together and figure out what the hell we're doing as we go. If you're out, we all had a nice time that we can carefully avoid talking about when we're drunk. I know what I'm hoping the answer is, but it's up to you."

"Say yes," Parker said. She looked at Hardison. "Sorry, I know you're trying to be reasonable here."

"I only have experience messing things up when it comes to pre-existing couples," Eliot said. "I only know how to break things."

"That's not true," Parker told him. 

"Is it me?" Hardison asked. "Because you seemed pretty comfortable kissing a dude a few minutes ago, but I get it if it's not something you can deal with on the regular."

"No," Eliot said, avoiding his eyes. "It's not you. It wasn't the first time. Won't be the last."

Hardison nodded. "Look, I don't want to pressure you," he said, "but I do think this is time-sensitive. There's a limited window where we can all write this off as something fun that just happened."

"You've got five minutes," Parker said, pointing at him.

"Baby, come on," Hardison said, catching her hands. "Give the man a little space."

Parker sighed. "Fine. A day. And then you have to tell us what you want."

"I don't need a day," Eliot said. "I don't need five minutes." He gazed at them. "I want this. I have for a long time."

"Yay!" Parker said, clapping her hands. "So we can kiss again after this, right?"

"Yes, Parker," Eliot said, pretending to be irritated. "Oh. Huh. I do that a lot, don't I?"

"Pretend you're mad at us so you don't have to think about kissing us and holding us and loving us forever?" Parker said. "Yeah. I have notes about it. You do it at least once every thirty minutes."

"I always thought it was kind of cute," Hardison said, looking smug.

"Yeah, well," Eliot said, "you're kind of cute."

"Nice comeback," Hardison told him. "Really stung, man." He put his hand to his chest. "Ouch."

"Shut up and eat so we can go back to bed," Eliot said, and that suited all of them just fine. 

They didn't all sleep together all the the time, but mostly they did. With four bedrooms, there were plenty of options, but Hardison's bedroom had the best bathroom and the biggest closets, so it became their bedroom by default. They didn't have sex together all the time, but mostly they did. Sometimes Parker wanted to watch and sometimes she didn't want to play at all and it was just Hardison and Eliot, finding new ways to compete and collaborate. Sometimes she and Hardison slept together and Eliot was on his own. Sometimes Parker crawled into Eliot's bed. They never talked about it much. It just worked. It hadn't ever not worked. That didn't mean they didn't fight sometimes. Balancing two businesses and a three-sided relationship wasn't always simple or easy. But it felt right to Eliot, when he looked up and saw them. It felt good. 

When Nate and Sophie left, it changed everything and nothing. They were better together. That was God's honest truth and nothing could put that asunder.

And so it went, for those first few months on their own. They kept themselves busy: Parker working on leveraging the reputation Leverage 1.0 had built to find more people to help, Eliot in the kitchen redoing the menu, and Hardison in the office promoting the Bridgeport and managing their money. "We play to our strengths," Parker said. "I know what to steal. Eliot knows what to cook. Hardison knows what people want."

"Hardison does not know what people want," Eliot protested, crossing his arms. "He tried to make a plum beer with jicama."

"It sold," Hardison said. 

"Yeah, when we put it on special for a dollar a pint," Eliot reminded him. "People will drink anything at that price point." 

"I'm in there making opportunities for us," Hardison insisted. 

"Like what?" Parker asked brightly, clearly cutting Eliot off. 

Hardison leaned forward, his big hands spread. "The Bridgeport has to get involved in local events. The Rose Festival. Weekend stuff. Valentine's day. Pride."

"Pride?" Eliot said. 

"Yes, Pride," Hardison said. "I don't know if you've noticed, but our brewpub happens to be in the Pearl District, which is about as queer-friendly as it gets, and we happen to be a queer-owned restaurant."

"Oh, yeah," Parker said. "Huh." She smiled at Hardison. "Good plan."

"So, what," Eliot said. "Are we turning this place into a gay bar? Because if so, I'm going to have to redo the menu again. We're set up for meals, not just bar food."

"No," Hardison said. "You handle the food. Set it up the way you want it." He leaned over and touched Eliot's hand. "Hey. I trust you to do what you do. Trust me to do what I do."

"I trust you," Eliot said. He sighed. "It's just been a lot of work and not a lot of fun lately."

"I'll find us a job," Parker said. "That's fun."

"For July," Hardison said. "And if that goes well, we can take a nice vacation in August. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Eliot said. 

"Rocked you back a little to hear we're a queer-owned business, though, didn't it," Hardison said, looking at Eliot.

"No. Maybe. I just don't think about it," Eliot said. "You're you and I'm me and we're us. I don't put a label on us."

"Me either," Parker said. "It makes things complicated. This is complicated enough for me already."

Hardison nodded slowly. "Okay. Well, as your collective boyfriend, I'm going to say we'll have to talk about that eventually. As your business partner, I'm telling you we're getting more involved with local events, and we're starting with Pride." He looked at each of them. "Unless you want to take over the business side of the restaurant too."

"Nope," Parker said, waving her hands. "No, thank you. I have enough to do trying to find things that we can steal back from bad people for good people, which is weird, because there are a lot of bad people in the world."

"I'm good," Eliot said. He squeezed Hardison's hand. "Thanks for taking care of us so we can chase our dreams." 

"It's my pleasure," Hardison said softly. "We got this."

"Yeah," Parker said. "We do."

Hardison spent most of May planning for Pride. It was the first Pride celebration at the Bridgeport, and the overflow storage was stacked with decorations. Parker unpacked them one at a time, draping herself in bunting. "Like Christmas!" she said. "Just in June. Ooh, look at all the flags. So many rainbows. I didn't know there were so many rainbows."

"I don't get it," Eliot said. "What's the big deal? It's just a parade." 

"I don't think you understand how much we'd be missing out on if we didn't host some Pride events," Hardison argued. "It's not 'just a parade', it's a whole month of stuff. That's money we're leaving on the table. If we want this to look like a legitimate business, we don't have a choice."

"This is a legitimate business!" Eliot snapped. "Dammit, Hardison, do you know how much work I put into this place? The menu planning alone - you see me sitting there working on the menu pretty much every week! You see me down there in the kitchen. You hear me on the phone, sourcing supplies."

"I know you work hard," Hardison said. "And I know that you know this is important. And hey, about the menu - could you pull together something a little special for a brunch menu? It can be a one-off, but let me tell you, brunch is an opportunity. Maybe even a drag brunch. Get some queens up in here."

"What's a drag brunch?" Parker asked.

"I'm not explaining that," Eliot told Hardison. "Honestly, I don't even know where to start."

Hardison leaned on the bar. "Drag queens, baby. Men who dress up as women, but like, kind of over the top. Makeup, dresses, fake eyelashes, the whole nine yards."

"Like Sophie on a grift?" Parker asked.

Hardison and Eliot exchanged a look. "Like Sophie times three," Hardison decided. "Or times ten. Like ten Sophies layered on top of each other. It's not necessarily supposed to be a realistic impersonation. More like a character. They're performers. They dance, lip sync to some songs, tell some jokes. There's drag kings too - women who dress up like men, draw on a beard, act all tough. But queens are more popular for brunch."

"Do they do magic?" Parker asked.

"I think there's a couple who do magic," Hardison said.

"Mostly it's a whole different kind of magic," Eliot said under his breath. 

"Anyway, it's a whole thing," Hardison told Parker. "Drag brunch. Everybody gets tipsy on mimosas and Bloody Marys and throws money at the drag queens for a tip."

"They throw money?" Parker's eyes lit up.

"Mostly ones," Eliot told her. "Don't get too excited."

"Have you been to drag brunch?" Parker asked Eliot. 

"Not my thing," Eliot said. "I'm not that kind of person."

"Not that kind of - are you or are you not in a serious committed relationship with us?" Hardison gestured between himself and Parker. "Us, a man and a woman. If you're not the kind of person who sleeps with both, I have been deeply, and I mean deeply, misinformed."

"Yeah," Eliot said, "but the whole community, all that stuff - it ain't me."

"Kind of seems like it's you," Parker said. "Kind of seems like it's us. But don't worry." She patted Eliot's arm. "I don't understand it yet either. I guess sex is a big deal." 

Hardison frowned. "First of all, the 'whole community' has room for everyone, whether they acknowledge it or not. Second of all, the straights love drag queens. It's a documented phenomenon."

"I'll come up with a menu," Eliot said. "What are you thinking, like pancakes? Eggs Benedict?" He smirked. "Fruit salad?"

"I'm gonna ignore that you tried that," Hardison said. "Something cheap for the baby gays, something expensive for the bougie gays, and a signature cocktail. Plus something sweet."

"Fine," Eliot told him. "I'll have it by next week."

He put off working on the brunch menu, not for any particular reason he could articulate, but he just didn't feel like it. Hardison didn't ask him about it, but Eliot could tell Hardison was purposefully not asking him. Pointedly not asking him, even. Finally, Eliot sat down at the bar by himself one night after they'd closed and scratched out some notes on the back of an old cocktail menu that had gotten stained by spills. 

Something cheap, something expensive, something sweet. Waffles were cheap, and fancier than pancakes. He had the vague feeling that fancier was better, for this particular group. Crab cakes for the pricier option - he could do something like eggs Benedict and serve them with an egg and some Cajun-spiced hollandaise, with some greens underneath to balance out the richness of the sauce and a few slices of jicama. He did need a fruit salad, or some kind of something healthier. It had been kind of a cheap joke, but now that he was thinking about it, it was a good option. Something with citrus and avocado, maybe some salmon for a protein and a few nuts for crunch. Yeah, he could do something with that. For the dessert, they could do a tarte au citron with some white chocolate and a few berries, plus their usual weekend breakfast pastries from one of the local bakeries. It all came together in his mind. They'd need a lot of eggs, a lot of flour, a lot of butter. It would work. 

For cocktails, they'd have mimosas and Bloody Marys, so that took care of champagne and vodka. He needed something else. Gin, maybe, or tequila. A signature cocktail had to have some kind of clever name to sell well. He needed some kind of reference to gay history or culture. Honestly, he didn't know that much about the community. He'd just never really thought about it, even though he'd started fooling around with guys in high school. He'd never done it because he was gay. It was just guy stuff, first in the showers after football practice and then in the military and his mercenary life. Just guys, blowing off a little steam, giving each other the occasional reach around or blowjob because your own hand got old after a while. 

Looking back on it, it was pretty damn gay, though, because they'd still done it even when there were plenty of women around. But it was just something he did. It wasn't something he was. Except, he guessed he was now, and maybe always had been, because there was a lot more to sleeping with Hardison, to being with Hardison, than just wanting to get off. 

Eliot sighed. He needed a menu, not a personal crisis. It wasn't rocket science. All he had to do was come up with some kind of gay reference that would help him sell booze. He didn't watch much tv, but he vaguely remembered some kind of something about Tila Tequila and her bisexual dating show. He jotted down proportions for a Tila Tequila Sunburn - tequila, lime soda, and a chili syrup, something with more punch than a jalapeño. He'd have to experiment a little with that - he didn't want just heat. Maybe a poblano syrup would add an earthiness. He could add a gin cocktail with rhubarb. That was summery, and he could give it some kind of drag queen name, like Ruby Delight. He could do it as a syrup, maybe add strawberry and lemon, serve it in a fancy glass, offer a mocktail option and call it whatever the fake version of a ruby was. Parker would know. There were so many possibilities. It was clear that May was just going to be trying new things to see what worked, and he was grateful the regular brewpub menu was already in place for the transition from spring to summer, because he was going to be distracted by all this Pride stuff.

He took the sketched-out menu downstairs and thrust it at Hardison. "Here." Hardison took it and looked it over slowly. 

"Yeah, that looks good," he said. 

"Of course it looks good," Eliot said defensively. "I'm not gonna half-ass this. This is my reputation on the line."

Hardison smiled. "You never half-ass anything." He put his arm around Eliot's shoulder and pulled him close for a quick kiss. "Thanks for putting it together. I know drag brunch isn't necessarily in your wheelhouse, cuisine-wise."

"Gay people eat, don't they," Eliot mumbled. "Everybody eats."

"Not just gay people," Hardison said. "Lesbians, bi people, trans people - the whole rainbow comes together to have waffles. You're going to find out about so much you never even knew existed."

Eliot shook his head. "Why's it gotta be so complicated? We're all just people. I don't have to broadcast to anybody who I'm sleeping with."

"It's not about that," Hardison said gently. "It's about being able to live a life where you feel true to yourself."

"I can feel true to myself without all the...whatever," Eliot said, gesturing at nothing.

"I guess not everybody's as lucky as you," Hardison said. There was something in his voice Eliot couldn't quite hear. "Anyway, thanks. I'll handle the rest."

And he did, and because he was Hardison, and he was a genius at booking talent and marketing and advertising and all the rest of it, the place was packed. They were so slammed that Eliot ended up helping serve and bartend when he wasn't doing extra prep in the kitchen. He was the only one not wearing one of the little Safe Space pins Hardison had bulk-ordered for the staff or one of the rainbow Bridgeport t-shirts, and more than a couple of tables eyed him up and down suspiciously. It offended him a little. Nobody should be afraid of him. They were in his damn bar, weren't they? He was one of the good guys. 

"You aren't safe at all, are you, honey?" an older man said as Eliot delivered his Ruby Delight. 

"Absolutely not," purred another, putting his hand on Eliot's arm for just a second. "Look at him - he's all danger." 

They laughed, and Eliot grimaced at them and turned away, only to come face to face with one of the drag queens.

"And who's this tender morsel?" cooed the drag queen. "Anybody order the filet mignon? Because I found a tasty little cut of beef that looks just delicious."

Eliot folded his arms. "Nobody orders off-menu."

The drag queen cackled into the microphone. "And he's got jokes! Ladies and gentlemen, if this man is yours, you better come claim him before I take him home with me." She leered playfully at him. 

Across the room, Eliot saw Hardison take a step toward him and then shake his head and nudge Parker. Parker, rainbows and glitter from head to toe, danced over and flung herself onto Eliot's back. He caught her easily, hitching her up on his waist as she wrapped her arms and legs around him. The drag queen groaned in disappointment.

"Looks like the straights have claimed another one," she told the audience. "Better luck next time, huh? But you better treat that man right or he'll be my man next week."

"I'd steal him back!" Parker told the drag queen.

Eliot carried Parker over to Hardison. "You enjoying yourself, huh?" he asked Hardison. 

"I am!" Parker crooned. "I'm going to go dance with them." She skipped back through the crowded restaurant to the drag queens, who started fussing over her.

"I knew people would be out here trying to steal my man," Hardison said. "Even if he doesn't want anybody to know he's my man."

"It's not that," Eliot said. "I'm not ashamed. It's not like that. It's just...it's just complicated."

Hardison patted him on the shoulder. "It's okay."

"Is it?" Eliot asked.

Hardison shrugged. "It kind of has to be, doesn't it?"

Eliot didn't have a response to that. "You did good," he said after a long moment. "It's a good event. We're going to feed a lot of people, make a lot of money."

Hardison nodded. "Yeah. And next year, we'll do even better. Expand the programming, get in earlier on the events."

"Okay," Eliot said. "Gonna need your help though, if I have to name any more drinks. I, uh, don't know much about all that stuff. Hard to come up with ideas."

Hardison laughed and put his hand low on Eliot's back where nobody would see at first glance. "Queer Studies 101, huh. We can do that."


	2. Year Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queer Studies 101 with Professor Alec Hardison

The year had gotten away from them, Eliot thought when June rolled around again. They'd been working on Leverage International, finding new clients, doing some tentative recruiting. Parker had done a great job handling most of that, but Nate had gotten lucky as hell to have acquired the three of them from Dubenich, they'd realized. Thieves and grifters were a dime a dozen, but good ones were pretty damn rare. The good ones who could work together were even more rare. They hadn't found a permanent fit yet. But the last week of May, Hardison declared they were taking June off to focus on the Bridgeport.

"Don't think I forgot about your education," he said. "I drew up a curriculum and everything. Queer Studies 101 is happening as soon as we close."

"I didn't even get around to making a new menu," Eliot complained.

"Call it a throwback," Hardison said. "Or a limited release. Like the McRib."

"I'm gonna ignore that you compared my food to that abomination," Eliot said slowly. "It just reflects badly on me."

"Just say it's a tradition," Hardison told him. "Second annual. Exclusive for Pride, and if you miss these crab cakes, you'll have to wait until it rolls around again."

"You can invent something new for next year," Parker said. "Like a cronut-waffle. That sounds tasty."

"The logistics of mass producing a cronut-waffle in our kitchen are mind boggling," Eliot started and then gave up. They all had their areas of expertise and sometimes it wasn't worth discussing. Parker just smiled at him. "What are we watching?"

"I'm gonna ease you into it," Hardison declared. "So we're starting with _The Bird Cage_. It's a classic. I'll fire it up. You two can handle popcorn duty." 

"Am I supposed to see myself in this?" Eliot asked about halfway through. 

"Do you see yourself in this?" Hardison asked.

"I don't," Parker said, taking another handful of popcorn. "I'm not any of those ladies." She laughed. "Imagine going to college."

"I'm sure as hell not the pool boy or whatever he is," Eliot grumbled. "Or the drag queen."

"The point is not that you relate directly to these characters," Hardison said. "It's just one representation of one aspect of queer culture."

"What do you get out of it?" Eliot asked. "You're not any of those people either."

Hardison shrugged. "Mostly, I see that the way people perceive us depends on the context. That it's not worth trying to satisfy people who are never going to like us and you might as well grift them if that's what it takes. We can play whatever roles we want to, and what looks like an authentic life for one person isn't what it looks like for someone else. Also, John Wayne really did walk funny." He grinned. 

"I already know all that," Eliot said. 

"Then it's just a movie," Hardison said. "Take what you need. Leave what you don't. But now you can name a cocktail after it if you want and it'll be like an inside joke with everyone in the know. Queer culture can mean sharing a story even if it isn't only about you. It's still about someone's queer experience."

"How come you're not on Parker to come out?" Eliot snarled. "There's got to be a flag for having two boyfriends."

"Parker's different," Hardison said. "And I'm not on you to come out either. If you want to come out, you get to make that decision. I'm just trying to help you find some new vocabulary in case the way you were describing yourself before doesn't fit anymore." He sighed and dropped his head. "I've been there, man. I know it's not easy."

Eliot shook his head in vehement disagreement. "Being with you two is easy. Loving you is easy."

"Yeah, I never loved anybody before and it's pretty good," Parker agreed. "It's weird, but it's good. Also sex."

Hardison leaned against him. "I'm glad. If that's as far as you want to take it, okay. I'm not asking you to change your whole view of yourself. I just know how it feels to have that view shift when you're not looking."

"Was it hard?" Eliot asked, not looking at Hardison.

"What, to realize that not only was I a Black nerd, I was also bisexual as all hell?" Hardison chuckled. "Yeah, it was hard. There are these expectations, you know? How to be a Black man, how to be masculine. I already didn't fit some of them, and then on top of that, I was also into guys. Maybe it helped that I already had had to do some thinking about what it meant to be a man, I don't know."

"But you're manly," Eliot said.

"I'm a man," Hardison said. "I happen to be a moderately masculine one. But you and I both know there's all kinds of men. And thank God for Nana, because growing up in the foster system, I heard a lot about what kind of Black man I'd probably grow up to be. But she never cared about any of that. She loved me for the boy I was."

"My dad," Eliot said. "He had a lot of expectations too."

Hardison nodded. "Everybody does, man." 

"Not me," Parker said. "I just think you're good."

"Thank you, Parker," Hardison said, putting his arm around her. "Your contribution to the great debate on masculinity is appreciated." He winked at Eliot.

"You're welcome," Parker said. "I mean, you both seem manly to me, and you sleep with guys, so it can't be not-manly to sleep with guys, if that's what you were worrying about. On the other hand, I'm not always sure I know a lot about being a woman. I mean, I'm not like Sophie or Tara or Maggie. But maybe I don't have to be. So maybe you don't have to be like other men."

"Look at that," Hardison teased. "You solved homophobia. Maybe we can get you on racism next."

"I'll do my best," Parker said. 

"Gotta say," Hardison said to Eliot, "that's part of it too. Because I am a nerdy bisexual Black man dating two of the least Black people in history. I still get a lot of looks if I walk down the street holding Parker's hand, and a lot of them are from guys who look like you. Imagine if I were holding both your hands. Double trouble."

"Yeah, but I'm not like that," Eliot said. "You know that." 

"But there are people like that," Hardison reminded him. "And again, I have to say it, some of them look like you. Not all of them, but some of the ones who are most likely to start shit, in my experience. They dress like you, talk like you. Like when we ran into that militia and you thought it wasn't about race."

"They would have shot us both," Eliot said.

"Maybe," Hardison said. "But they were only aiming at me. I think they would have tried to recruit you first. That wasn't an option for old Hardison here."

"So there's homophobia and racism," Eliot said. 

"I am sorry to report that there is very much still homophobia and racism," Hardison said solemnly. "Just in case you ever do decide to come out to anyone else, which I am once again _not_ asking you to do, because it's one hundred percent your choice, it's something you should know. People will give you shit about it."

"You're really selling it here," Eliot said.

"Aw, man, and I haven't even gotten to transphobia, bi erasure, and ace exclusion," Hardison said. "Y'all are in for an educational month."

"Yay," Eliot said sarcastically, making jazz hands. 

It was a pretty good movie, though, and the things they did after it were even more entertaining. Eliot rolled over while Hardison was in the shower and snuggled up to Parker. "Hey," he said into her hair.

"Hey," she said from the circle of his arms. "You okay?"

He sighed. "All this gay stuff. Sorry, queer stuff. I just don't think I get it."

"It's okay," she said. "I didn't get any of the stuff before I met you guys. I didn't even really think about it. Love. Sex. Any of it. I was just me. Now I'm me but complicated."

"Does Hardison have a word for you too?" Eliot asked. 

Parker wiggled ambivalently. "He showed me a video about asexuality."

"What's that?" Eliot nuzzled closer.

"People who don't really want to have sex, I guess," Parker said. "Like, it doesn't occur to them. They just don't feel attraction like other people do."

"Is that you?" Eliot asked. "Do you not feel attracted to us?"

"I think you and Hardison are pretty," Parker said, turning over to face him. "If I didn't want to have sex with you, I wouldn't do it. Hardison said there's all kinds of asexuals. I've read a little bit about it. Some of them think it's gross, but some don't mind having sex, especially with certain people."

"But is that you?" Eliot asked.

Parker shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe there's some other reason. I mean, I don't think stabbing people because you don't know what to say to them is a sign of asexuality."

"I think I would have heard more about it if it were," Eliot murmured. 

"So maybe there's more to it," Parker said. "Or not. I just don't really think about it. I love you and Hardison. I feel things about you. I like having sex with you. But it's just not that important to my brain. I know when you look at someone pretty, sometimes you want to have sex with them, just kind of automatically, and I don't think I have that." She reached up and stroked his hair and smiled at him. "But I'm different from you, Eliot. Hardison's right. You know I'm different. Maybe I don't have one word that holds all of that. Maybe I need more words."

"You're not different. You're just...Parker," Eliot said. 

"I know," she said. "I'm glad I'm me. But I am different. It's kind of nice, not needing to always be a part of human stuff like feelings and teams. Which is good, because I never was before, so I didn't know what I was missing. I think I would have been sad, if I'd known. But you've always been part of a team. In school, in the army, with the other people you were working with before us. You understand people and people understand you." She licked her lips. "It's like...society is a security system. I look at it from the outside. All I ever wanted to know about it was how to find the weak points and get in and get out with what I needed. But you're part of the system, inside it. The good thing is, you know when things are wrong and you can fix them. The bad thing is, it's hard to get free if you're stuck."

"Is there something wrong with me?" he whispered. "If I don't have a word for it?"

"No, no, no," she said, cradling his face in her hand. "You're Eliot. You're our Eliot. Everything about you is just right. But sometimes what you call a thing matters. It doesn't change the thing. It just tells you a little more about where it's from and how it works. Like if I found a gun, and I said, 'Hey, Eliot, I found a gun', you'd want to know what kind, right? Then you'd know how to act around it."

"What I'd say is, 'Parker, put the gun down'," he told her. 

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

"So are you...straight?" he asked. "Is that a thing asexuals can be? I mean, if you're asexual."

"I'm Parker," she said. "I'm still learning. For now, I'm just Parker."

"But would you sleep with a lady?" he asked. "If there was an opportunity? Or is it just dudes?"

"Maybe," she said cheerfully. "I don't know. But I didn't know I was going to want to sleep with you either."

"Fair enough," he said. "Although it kind of hurts my ego to think there was a time you didn't want to sleep with me."

She laughed. "I think all we can do is handle things as they come up."

He pushed his hips against hers, teasing. "Oh, look at that, I think something's coming up." She giggled and wriggled against him. He kissed the tip of her nose.

"Hey," she said softly. "I didn't know you and Hardison were going to change my life. I think it's okay not to know yet. We're all a lot of things, you know? You're not just a hitter anymore. I'm not just a thief. There might be words for what we are or there might not. It's okay to say one thing sometimes and then something else, depending on what you need. Hardison might think that's dishonest, but I don't. We survive, remember? You and me."

"Like _The Bird Cage_ ," he murmured. 

"Maybe," she said. "But what matters the most to me is that you're you and we love each other." She thought for a moment. "Also you could wear more jean shorts and shirts that show your abs."

"I don't think we're quite there yet," he said. "But maybe once in a while, just around the house."

"Hardison isn't going to stop loving you if you don't have a word," Parker said. "And neither am I."

"Yeah, but it feels kind of...I don't know," Eliot said. "Like I'm not being honest. And I don't want to not be honest with you. The rest of the world, who cares. But you two are my heart."

"We know," Parker said. 

"I might be bisexual," Eliot said, his whole body going suddenly cold.

"Okay." Parker smiled at him. "Do you feel better?"

"No, I'm scared as hell," Eliot said. "And for no good damn reason either. It makes no sense to be scared of a stupid word when I've taken down eight Yakuza in two minutes without even breathing hard."

"You weren't fighting yourself," Parker told him. "Now it probably feels like you are. I'd be scared, trying to face down Eliot Spencer."

Eliot nodded slowly. "Okay. That makes sense."

"Go tell Hardison," Parker said. "We can go tell him together."

"Oh, yeah, he's gonna be all warm and wet from the shower, huh?" Eliot said. "Let's go handle that situation." 

They tumbled out of bed and pretended to race each other to the bathroom. Hardison was extremely glad to see them, as it turned out, and the situation was deftly handled. 

They had a hell of a good month, all things considered. They fed a lot of people, made a lot of money, and even on the days that weren't Pride-related events, it still felt like a party and there were still all the different varieties of rainbows scattered through the dining room. Parker pouted when they instituted a no-glitter rule after the fiasco with the edible glitter and the ranch dressing, but overall, everything went smoothly. 

He still didn't wear a pin or any kind of rainbow anything, but it felt a little different when he nodded to the people who came into the Bridgeport in all kinds of outfits that told him who they were. He was learning to read it, the way he'd learned to read uniform variations and rank pins. The more queer stuff they watched — _Paris Is Burning_ , _Fire_ , _Pariah_ , _But I'm A Cheerleader_ , _Priscilla, Queen of the Desert_ , _The Color Purple_ , _Queer As Folk_ , — the more he saw. And it felt a little bit like being on a team, even if he was some third-stringer whose name people didn't even know. It felt like something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many, many other excellent queer texts to enjoy. I just picked a few of what I've found are the more accessible ones (in my white queer life, anyway), because this is Queer Studies 101 (thank you to [ziggybaker](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ziggybaker) for the addition of _Pariah_!). Trust and believe that Eliot got a very sensual lecture about Stonewall, the AIDS crisis, and many other icons of queer history, but Hardison's already the exposition guy in the show and my story and I didn't have room for everything. 
> 
> As a white lady, Hardison's experience is somewhat beyond me (I was glared at in college for walking down the street with my non-white partner, so I am very aware that still happens, but that's about it), but I think it's important and I wanted them to talk about it. Eliot, being from Oklahoma, should probably know better given the significant Native American population around where his family lives, but it's easy to not think about things when they don't directly affect you. 
> 
> Parker, again, is complex, and I have my own thoughts about why that might be, but as the show never confirms them and this is a story about Eliot, I didn't want to venture too deep into that. 
> 
> The McRib is a trash food and I stand by that. :)


	3. Year Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the third year, Eliot was prepared.

For the third year, Eliot was prepared. He took notes all year, infused liqueurs, tried out recipe after recipe on Hardison and Parker. They expanded drag brunch to two out of four weekends in June and offered different cocktails every weekend whether there were performers or not. He invented a Harvey Milk Punch, and a Marsha P. Johnson cocktail that involved bourbon, a hot peach syrup, and an edible flower garnish. The rhubarb moved into a bright pink twist on a French 75 that he called the ACT UP, and the Tila Tequila Sunburn became Sylvia Rivera's Brick - the poblano syrup worked better with mezcal, and it definitely got the party started, so to speak, but it did feel a little like somebody threw a brick through your brain if you had more than one. Eliot put a sweet cream waffle on the menu along with a savory one and added mushroom fries as an appetizer. He kept the crab cakes. Nothing said bougie like crab cakes, apparently.

Hardison had started running a game night in the brew pub, mostly bring your own but in partnership with a local game shop. For June, he declared it to be Queer Game Night, with 50% of the proceeds going to local activist groups supporting LGBTQ2IA+ youth in crisis, and the place was filled with what seemed like half the nerds in Portland in all their relative finery. They were playing video games on handheld consoles and the tvs in the bar. They were playing board games and tabletop roleplaying games at the tables. The kitchen and the bar were busy and the tip jar was stuffed full of bills. Hardison strutted through it like a king. It seemed like everybody knew him and wanted to talk to him. 

"Age of the Geek, baby," he declared to Parker and Eliot, who were sitting at the bar. 

"Looks like it," Eliot said, raising his beer to his lips. At least Thief Juice was no longer a mouth crime, after three years of tweaks to the recipe. Hardison smirked and walked away to dispense more advice and play a few more rounds of whatever was happening on the tv in the corner. 

"Does it seem like a lot of people are flirting with Hardison?" Parker asked. 

Eliot scanned the room. In two minutes, six different people approached Hardison, all wide-eyed and smiling. "Definitely."

"Okay," Parker nodded. "Just wanted to make sure I wasn't imagining things."

"You okay?" Eliot asked.

"Yeah," Parker said, sounding a little surprised. "Turns out I'm a little less jealous when I already know he loves me. So that's good, because last time, I did get a lot of cuts on my hand from the broken glass. Couldn't pick locks for a week."

"Gonna let that one go," Eliot said, taking another swallow of beer. Hardison deserved to be the center of attention. He'd done a lot of work to set this up. On the other hand, watching what seemed like every single person try to get his boyfriend's attention made him want to wade into the crowd and throw Hardison over his shoulder. Hardison was polite to everybody - that was, as he often reminded them, a necessity if they wanted customers to actually keep coming back, Parker, so please don't throw bread at anyone again, yes, I'm glad you didn't tase them like you wanted to - but they were more than polite back. 

"Maybe the bar isn't the best place for us," Eliot murmured to Parker.

"Ah," she said. "We should follow him. Like a recon mission."

"Or like bodyguards," Eliot said. "Protect him from all these advances."

They got up and trailed after Hardison. It was worse at close quarters, though. Eliot could see exactly what kind of looks people were giving him, and their eyes were making Hardison a lot of promises that Eliot didn't think their asses could keep. Hardison had a smile for everyone. Eliot kind of hated it. Hardison had one of those big scarves on, rainbow-striped for Pride, and more than one person tried to play with the tassels of it or stroke the material. It was just amateur stuff, Eliot told himself. No finesse to it. Hardison clearly didn't take any of it seriously, but still. It was like watching Sophie in a play. 

"Heyyy, buddy," Eliot said, coming up to Hardison and slinging his arm around Hardison's shoulders, careful not to spill any beer. "Great night, huh?"

The latest applicant, a cute Asian-American woman in her mid-20s with teal hair and a lot of tattoos, looked up at Eliot and almost rolled her eyes. It probably didn't help that Parker had come up behind to peer over Eliot's shoulder, her chin resting between them. 

"It really is a great night, Alec," the woman said. "Though I think some of us are enjoying it more than others. I haven't seen you two at the gaming stations."

" _Alec_ ," Parker whispered in their ears.

"Oh, yeah, cribbage," Eliot said. "I've been playing a lot of cribbage. Great game." He nodded at her and reached around Hardison for his beer, so that for a second, his arms were around Hardison. "You?"

"I run a TTRPG," she said, clearly watching him to see if he knew what that was.

"Right on," he told her in a twangy drawl. "Love those. TTRPG. NCAA. KOPB." 

Now she did roll her eyes. "See you next week," she said to Hardison. 

"Yeah, see you," he said, waving one hand as she left. 

"She was cute," Eliot said. "Did you think so, Parker?"

"I kind of want teal hair," she said. "Too identifiable, though. Maybe I'll buy a wig."

"Please do," Hardison said. "Because right now, y'all aren't being cute, I will say that."

"Just making friends," Eliot said, grinning. 

"Uh huh," Hardison said. "If that's you making friends, I'd hate to see you try to make enemies."

"Come on now," Eliot said. "You've seen me make plenty of enemies."

"Not in my brew pub," Hardison said. "What if you went and made dinner so I can wrap this up without having to haul the two of you around the room?"

"Ooh, dinner," Parker said. "Yes, please." 

"Fine," Eliot said. "I wanted to try out a new burger recipe anyway. But don't think we're not having this conversation later." 

"Looking forward to it," Hardison said. "Now shoo."

They shooed, out of the bar and back to the apartment. Parker perched on the island and watched him. Eliot got ground beef out of the fridge and mixed it with spices. He pulled out a block of cheese and grated it, mixed it with some mayonnaise and mild peppers.

"Ugh, what's that orange stuff?" Parker asked.

"Pimento cheese, and it's delicious, and you're going to love it," Eliot said. He turned on the grill and set everything up. 

"What are you doing with it?" Parker asked.

He shaped a patty and laid it down on the grill. "It's going on the burger."

Parker made a face. "Is that going to be good?" 

"Have I ever served you anything bad?" he demanded, washing his hands. 

She puckered up her lips in thought. "Not yet." 

"So there's your answer," he told her, and concentrated on cooking. He toasted the bun on a buttered griddle and spread the pimento cheese on the top half, ready to receive the burger. When it was finished, he put everything together and handed it to Parker. "I'm gonna add it to the menu for brunch for Pride weekend only. Sometimes people need more than crab cakes to sustain them. From what I overhear, it's more of a marathon than a party."

"'S good," Parker said. "'S weird, but 's good. Just like us."

"Pimento cheese is not weird," Eliot said, stabbing his finger into the counter. "You just don't know what's good."

"Yeah, but I think you're good," she said, licking pimento cheese off her fingertip, "so what does that say about you?"

"Even a broken clock can be right sometimes," he said, and kissed her. 

"Getting things started without me?" Hardison asked as he came into the kitchen and hitched himself up on the counter next to Parker.

"How could we?" Eliot asked him. "You're the life of the party." He pulled Hardison close for a kiss. "How do you want your burger?"

"Fair warning, it's weird," Parker said, picking one of Eliot's homemade cornichons out of the jar on the counter and eating it. "But it's good."

"That's how I like 'em," Hardison said, kissing Eliot again. "And medium. Not too pink."

"You got it," Eliot said, and turned back to the griddle. It didn't take long to cook it to the right temperature and plate everything up. Hardison picked up the burger, smelled it, and bit into it. He groaned. 

"Burn yourself?" Eliot asked. 

"The gays are going to love this," Hardison declared. 

"I thought we said 'queer'," Parker said. "Because it's an umbrella term or whatever. More inclusive."

"'The queers are going to love this' doesn't sound right," Eliot said dubiously. 

"I mean yeah, we do," Hardison said. "But even queer people need jokes. Eliot, you going to serve this with fries?"

"Choice of regular or sweet potato," Eliot said. "No waffle fries."

"Waffle fries?" asked Parker, her eyes sparkling.

"As far as you're concerned, they don't exist," Eliot said, pointing at her. "We are not getting that fussy in my kitchen and I'm sure as hell not buying frozen." She pouted. 

"It's good," Hardison declared. "But she's right. It's a little weird."

"I don't come in here and tell you orange soda sucks," Eliot grumbled.

"You are correct," Hardison said. "It is an objective truth that orange soda does not suck. Nobody would believe you even for a second."

"It's good," Parker announced, finishing off her burger. "I just needed to eat more of it to make sure." She patted Eliot on the arm. "Your food is good. People are going to love it."

"Thank you," he said. 

"It's gonna be a good Pride," Hardison said. "We're really on people's radar now."

"Sometimes it's weird running two businesses," Parker said thoughtfully. "I mean, there's a big difference between having a restaurant and stealing things back for people."

"If you think about it, the hospitality industry is one big grift," Hardison said. "You make people want what you have."

"Yeah, but then you give it to them," Eliot pointed out. "So, kind of the opposite of grifting. People want my food, they get my food. There's nothing made-up about that."

"For everyone else who has to convince people their stuff is the best when it's clearly not because it's not my baby cooking it, it's a grift," Hardison amended. "One of my babies."

"I can cook," Parker objected.

Hardison scoffed and leaned over to kiss her. "Not like Eliot, you can't."

"You can't cook at all," Eliot said affectionately.

"I can make a mean bowl of cereal," Parker said. "Milk and everything." She nodded and raised her eyebrows suggestively at him.

"One of these days I'll teach you to cook," Eliot said. "Maybe next month. June's busy."

"It is at that," Hardison said. "You ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Eliot told him. "At least we had time to do a new menu this time."

"People loved it," Hardison said. "The Traditional Bridgeport Queer Brunch. Somebody's going to ask for whatever you did last year and you know it."

"Yeah, well, we can't always get what we want," Eliot said, shaping another burger patty. He threw it on the grill and washed his hands at the sink, keeping one eye on the sizzling beef.

"I have everything I want," Parker said. 

"And you deserve it, baby," Hardison told her. 

"Can we get new decorations?" Parker asked. "I'm thinking...more rainbows." She spread her hands in the air to indicate the breadth of her vision. "Rainbows for everybody."

"You know all the different flags are for different orientations, right," Hardison said. "It's not just different rainbows because they're pretty."

"That's cool," Eliot said. "Like rank pins. General Gay. Lieutenant Lesbian." 

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," Hardison said. "They're very distinctive flags." He winked at Eliot.

"Hey," Eliot said, pointing his spatula at Hardison. "Watch yourself."

"I think I'll watch you instead," Hardison said, turning around in his chair. "Mmhmm, the view is good."

Eliot smirked to himself. He definitely never felt underappreciated when it came to Parker and Hardison. 

"But what if he were wearing jean shorts?" Parker said to Hardison. "Like, cutoffs. Like that guy who came in the other day. Wouldn't that be good?"

"I like the way you think," Hardison told her. 

"I can hear you," Eliot said without turning around. He flipped his burger.

"I hope so," Parker told him. "Otherwise, I don't think you're going to take the hint."

"I'm not taking that hint," Eliot said. "I don't want to look...like that. It's not me."

"Eliot, she was just joking," Hardison said. "Nobody's going to make you wear booty shorts if you don't want to."

Eliot sighed. "Sorry," he said to Parker. "It's just weird sometimes still. I mean, I guess I kind of am like that. It's just looking like it that's a problem for me."

"What's 'like that'?" Parker asked. 

"You know," Eliot said uncomfortably. "That kind of queer guy. Super tight shirts. Little shorts. Rainbow stuff. It's not me."

"Uh huh," Hardison said. "Not manly enough for you."

"I guess," Eliot said, plating up his food and coming over to the counter. "I didn't say it was right. I just said it wasn't me."

"Plenty of manly dudes in short shorts out there in the world," Hardison said. "I promise you that." 

"It's just a lot, okay," Eliot said. "Just kind of in your face."

"And your big belt buckles and shitkicking boots aren't," Hardison said, his face deadpan. 

"That's different," Eliot said automatically, even though he knew Hardison wasn't wrong.

"I like it," Parker said. "I think it's fun. Makes it easier to notice things about people. Very helpful for me." 

"I didn't say other people couldn't do it," Eliot said. "I just said I'm not doing it. I'm not there. You know, the last time I wore a flag, it was the US flag."

Hardison made a face. "The last time you wore a flag was two jobs ago when you stole an Italian cop's uniform."

"I mean a flag that represented me," Eliot said. He pounded his fist over his heart. "Who I really am."

"So don't wear a flag," Parker said. "I'll wear them all." She grinned. "Confuse the hell out of everybody."

"Nobody said you couldn't be out and proud and quiet about it." Hardison shook his head. "I'd argue that I'm pretty quiet about it, overall."

"Yeah, it's just that everyone else is so fuckin' loud." Eliot frowned. "I'm not the kind of person who needs to wear a flag."

"Nobody said you had to be, baby," Hardison said, catching Eliot's hand and kissing his wrist. "Just be you. It's a process."

"It's not about you," Eliot said. 

"I know," Hardison assured him. 

Eliot sighed. "It's about everybody else. It's like nobody in Portland wears anything that isn't rainbows or leather for the whole month of June. If I'm not a rainbows guy or a leather guy, where's my place in the parade?"

"You make your own right next to us and wear whatever the hell you want. People are going to assume what they assume. Plenty of non-straight people of all kinds of genders in our place tonight wearing just about everything under the sun. You can be queer as the day is long in booty shorts or a muumuu or whatever you want to wear. There's queer people in bikinis and burkhas and everything in between. But hey, if you want to start wearing leather, be my guest," Hardison said, raising one eyebrow.

"Mm," Parker agreed. "Let me know. I know a guy who does a lot of stuff with leather." She nodded, smiling to herself. "A loooot of stuff."

"And we are going to come back to that for sure, baby," Hardison said. "But I think it's going on the back burner for now."

"But it's like if I don't, nobody knows," Eliot said. "And everybody flirts with you right in front of me. Parker goes over there, okay, everyone assumes you're together, or could be. I go over there, I'm just your obnoxious bro."

"Oh, so this is a jealousy thing in addition to an identity thing," Hardison said knowingly. "That does complicate the situation."

"Everyone is actually flirting with you," Parker told Hardison. "I pulled these out of your pockets." She reached into her own pocket and brought out a handful of slips of paper. "Some of them were pretty smooth about it, honestly. Maybe we should recruit a few of them."

"Seriously," Eliot said. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to be me, but queer."

"That's not what you said last night," Hardison teased.

"You know what I mean," Eliot told him, scowling. "Queer in my own way. I can't fight in booty shorts. Everyone would see my junk. It would just pfft" — he gestured toward his crotch — "fall right out."

"Again with the booty shorts," Hardison said. "You're the one who's obsessed with them. Literally nobody is saying you have to wear booty shorts. Parker can look at your ass no matter what you're wearing."

"Sure can," she agreed, pretending to make binoculars of her hands. 

"Just wear what you want," Hardison said. "That's you, but queer, because that's _you_ , and you're queer. If you want people to know, just hold my hand or kiss me or something."

"I don't always need people to know," Eliot said. "Sometimes it's useful if they don't. But that woman who was flirting with you - she can know." 

"Who, Jane?" Hardison laughed. 

"Jane," Parker said solemnly.

"Uh huh, Jane," Eliot said.

Hardison shook his head and smiled. "Don't worry about Jane. She's poly and she's got, like, five other partners and plenty of prospects. She doesn't need to collect little ole me."

"I don't think that's what she thinks," Eliot said. Parker nodded. 

"You can flirt with her if you want," Hardison said. "Either of you. I won't mind." 

"I don't think she likes me very much," Eliot said. "For some reason."

"I wonder what that could be," Hardison said dryly. 

"Maybe she'd like me better," Parker said. "I could try flirting with her."

"Oh yeah?" Hardison asked. "Jane pings your radar?"

"I don't know," Parker said. "But maybe I should try harder."

"You don't have to try to do anything," Hardison assured her. "I know it's not easy for you to trust your feelings, but I trust your feelings. If Jane doesn't interest you, don't flirt with her. Although it might be good practice for the next con, you never know. But whatever. It's up to you."

Parker smiled at him. "I love you," she told him. "That I'm sure about."

"I love you too," he said. 

"Sometimes I do want people to know," Eliot said. "Sometimes I want people to see me with the two of you and know that we're more than just business partners."

"Easy," Hardison said. "I'll just get a shirt that says 'I'm With Stupid'."

Eliot rolled his eyes, smiling. "That's mean," Parker said. "How about 'I'm With This Handsome Guy'? Or maybe 'Yeah, I Am Dating Both Of Them'."

"Or we could just get wedding rings," Eliot suggested. 

"Oooh, can we steal them?" Parker asked immediately.

"How are they supposed to match if we steal them?" Eliot asked. 

Parker pouted. "I could have figured something out. It kind of takes the fun out of it to buy them. That's not a good story."

"There's a jewelry store across the street," Hardison said. "We'll check it out tomorrow." He smiled tenderly at Eliot. "We can all be quietly queer together."

"That's kind of cute, not gonna lie," Parker said, wrinkling her nose. 

"Are you going to be okay for the next few weeks while everybody's decked out in rainbows and leather and what have you?" Hardison asked.

"I'm going to try to be," Eliot said. "And maybe I'll even let Parker buy me some shorts and something leather and we can have our own private little Pride parade on the roof."

"I like that idea," Parker said. "Ooh, what should I wear?"

"As little as possible," Eliot told her, and Hardison said, "Amen." They high-fived without looking. 

The rings they got at the jeweler's were simple, the kind of nondescript accessory they might have worn to help flesh out an identity for a job. But all the same, Eliot felt something as he watched Hardison slide on a ring that matched his, as he watched the little diamond set in Parker's ring catch the light. To a thief, their rings were worth nothing more than the gold in them. To him, they were without price. They held their three hands together and looked at them quietly for a long moment.

"This is better than a t-shirt," Parker said. 

"Much better," Hardison said. He took Eliot's hand, rubbing his thumb over Eliot's ring. "Now everyone will know you're spoken for, even if they don't know who's doing the speaking."

"It wasn't me I was worried about," Eliot said. "I ain't King of the Geeks." He did feel better, though. The slight pressure of the ring was tangible enough that he could always feel it if he thought about it. Like they were holding him all the time, always with him. He almost hoped people would see the rings and make the right connections. 

The rest of June was okay. The plain gold band on Eliot's finger helped, and Hardison was right — the clothes didn't make the man. He served a lot of burgers and beer to a lot of people wearing all kinds of outfits, and plenty of the people in clothes he'd thought were over the top also had very distinctive tells that they'd served in various branches of the military or done other stuff that he'd done. Whatever they wore, they had a lot in common, he and the Pride patrons. Maybe Hardison was right and it was a process and everybody was going through it. He thought about all the outfits he'd worn over the years for various jobs, what they'd said about who he was trying to be in that moment, what they meant about who he really was inside. It was kind of costumes all the way down, in a way. Hardison wasn't wrong about his boots and their message, anyway.

"Hey, uh, Hardison," Eliot said after the fireworks on the Fourth of July. "Maybe it's time for Queer Studies 102."

Hardison grinned. "We can do that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Keyanna](http://archiveofourown.org/users/keyanna) for the suggestion of a Marsha P. Johnson cocktail!


	4. Year Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bridgeport has to host the official Pride parade afterparty on extremely short notice.

Eliot's phone rang three days before the Pride parade. It was Hardison. "What's up?" he said.

"I need you to promise you won't be mad at me," Hardison said.

"What did you do?" Eliot asked.

"I need you to promise," Hardison repeated.

"I won't be mad at you," Eliot said.

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart," he swore, tracing his finger in an X over his heart. "And yes, I did it." 

"I kiiind of signed us up to host the official Pride afterparty," Hardison said. "After the parade."

"No, you didn't," Eliot said. "That's always at Any Port. Has been forever, as far as I know. Also that party's in three days, so we're definitely not hosting it, because I definitely would have known about it three _months_ in advance if we were."

"They had a little problem which I had NOTHING to do with, can I just say, but they had a little problem with their electrical system and the sound system kind of caught on fire and burned out a bunch of other stuff," Hardison said. "The committee just called me to ask if we could take over. We're bigger than any of the other bars on the list. They need the capacity."

"We don't have enough fruit," Eliot said.

"I know," Hardison said, like that was an apology.

"We don't have enough cups," Eliot said. "We don't have enough napkins. We're going to have to rearrange all the furniture. We don't have enough shakers, we don't have enough alcohol, we don't have enough straws. Dammit, Hardison!"

"You promised you wouldn't be mad," Hardison reminded him. 

Eliot pinched the bridge of his nose and paced back and forth. "What I need you to do on your way home is first, stop at every grocery store you see and buy all the lemons and limes they've got. And some cocktail cherries, we're going to have to serve those disgusting artificial ones because there's no way we can get Luxardo at that volume. And oranges. And then stop at whatever home goods store will sell you those frozen drink machines. Hell, steal them from a gas station if you have to."

"How many of those?" Hardison asked.

"Four," Eliot said. "Six if you can get them. These are not going to be what you call quality cocktails, Hardison. I'm going to feel a lot of shame serving these."

"Relax," Hardison said soothingly. "Nobody goes to the afterparty for the good stuff. If they want quality, they can come back for brunch on Sunday."

Eliot exhaled loudly. "I'm compromising my standards for you. I hope you know that."

"I know it, baby, and I love you," Hardison said warmly. "I talked to the manager at Any Port and they said the staff there can help us out if we've got room for them. They've got a bunch of experienced bartenders in need of a paycheck, and I'm sure this weekend's always huge for them. I told them I'd let them know."

"That'll help," Eliot said. "I'm sure there will be a few people who want real drinks that don't just involve pulling a lever." 

"I knew you could handle it," Hardison said. "You always rise to the occasion."

"Shut up," Eliot said. "I have to go organize the kitchen and tell the staff." He paused. "Maybe I'll let Parker tell the staff. Shut up. I love you."

"I love you too," Hardison told him. "Even if you said shut up twice and I wasn't even talking."

"Limes," Eliot snarled, and hung up.

Parker clapped when Eliot told her and lined the staff up in the dining room like they were at basic training and she was their drill sergeant. She'd tucked her hair under some kind of army cap and she stood in front of the staff with her feet braced apart and her hands clasped behind her back.

"All right, troops!" she shouted. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to host the greatest Pride afterparty that Portland has ever seen."

Amy raised her hand. Apparently she'd been temporarily drafted away from her new position as graphic designer and social media manager for the place. Art school had been good for her, but this was an all hands on deck situation.

"Yes, recruit Palavi?" Parker demanded.

"I thought that was at Any Port," Amy said.

"Any Port burned to the ground," Parker said in a voice like a pirate, a ridiculous glint in her eye. 

"No, it didn't," Eliot said hastily, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Just a small fire in the electrical system. Nobody's hurt. They just can't host the party this year and Hardison volunteered us."

"Fine," Parker said, rolling her eyes. "Any Port only burned a little. But your mission is still to host the greatest afterparty that Portland has ever seen." 

Amy raised her hand again.

"Yes, recruit Palavi!" Parker snapped.

"Do we have enough, you know, cups?" Amy asked.

"I'm working on it," Eliot said. "We should have cups, napkins, straws day after tomorrow. Hardison's out picking up fruit and a few of those frozen drinks machines. We're going to cut back our usual drinks menu to pretty much just frozen margaritas, frozen daiquiris, a couple of specialty cocktails, and a couple of mocktails we can make in batches. We'll have an incredibly limited menu and some free snacks, so we'll be making mega-batches of those fire crackers and other kinds of stuff like that that we can do in advance. Plus the staff from Any Port is going to come over and help us out, so starting tomorrow, you'll have a few helpers on your shift so everybody gets trained. Don't get territorial about it."

"So!" Parker said, less pirate and more perky, "that's your mission. We've got three days to decorate the heck out of this place and get it ready for the party of the century while also doing all the stuff we usually do. You're all approved for overtime!" She threw her hands in the air. "Also if you have any friends who need a job for the next three days, we can probably find something for them to do. Dis-missed!" The staff dispersed back to their stations, talking in twos and threes. At least they seemed a little excited. Parker nodded in apparent satisfaction. "Another successful briefing."

"Is that what you think the army is like?" Eliot asked her. "That is not what the army is like."

"I don't know," Parker said cheerfully. "Seemed pretty accurate to me. A-ten-hut!"

Eliot growled under his breath. "I can't believe you two are the loves of my life. Outstanding. Way to go, Eliot, this is the foreseeable future. Sourcing emergency bar supplies and correcting inaccurate representations of significant portions of your formative years."

Parker skipped back and kissed him. "I heard that." She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I kind of like being one of the loves of your life."

"Yeah, well," he said, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "I kind of like you." He kissed her until his phone rang - Hardison asking about the specs of different frozen drink machines. "Just get whatever," Eliot said after several minutes of indecipherable statistics about RPM and relative motor horsepower. "We'll make it work." He glanced at Parker. 

She smiled at him. "We always do."

And they did. There were a couple of late nights, working with a few members of their staff and the Any Port people to make sure everything was decorated to the nines and organized for optimal drink distribution. Parker put on music and a headband with rainbow deelieboppers and made it feel like a party. Every hour or so she'd declare a five minute dance break and make Eliot and Hardison and Amy dance with her. It was fun and everyone got paid and the place looked nice. 

"You've really got an eye for this stuff," Eliot told Parker, putting his arm around her. "I mean, it does look like a bunch of rainbows barfed all over the place, but classy."

"That's our girl," Hardison said, coming over and pulling both of them into a hug. 

"Thanks," Parker said, beaming. "I just thought about all the art I've stolen over the years and tried to make it look like that. You know, colors, shapes. I might not know exactly who I am yet, but everybody else can see themselves."

"Whatever works," Hardison said. "I'm sorry I sprang this on you. Both of you." He stopped and tilted his head in thought. "Mostly Eliot."

"I appreciate that," Eliot said. "But you and I both know it's an opportunity we couldn't miss out on. Hosting the Pride afterparty? Come on. That's a chance that doesn't come along every day."

"Yeah," Hardison said, "but only if this place actually matters, you know? It's not like we don't have income without it, which, thank you, Parker."

"I'm better at that stuff than this stuff," she said, waving her hand. "Anybody can make it look rainbows look fun. Only a thief can do thief things."

"Not everybody can make rainbows look fun," Hardison told her. "I've seen a lot of parties that just looked like a unicorn threw up everywhere. It looks really nice in here. Don't sell yourself short."

"Thanks," she said, looking pleased. "Maybe I am getting better at art."

"Listen, man, this place isn't just a cover story," Eliot said fiercely. He could feel himself tearing up a little. "We built it together. It's part of our legacy."

"I could take it or leave it, mostly," Parker said. "But overall, I like it. It's useful. It's better than the old bar. And we made it pretty. And I made a friend."

"Your business smarts," Eliot said to Hardison. "My food. Parker's aesthetics. This place is ours now. And I love that. I love that we invested ourselves in something that won't have the cops on us. I love that we started something ourselves. Nate didn't do that. We did that. This place is us."

Hardison looked a little weepy too. "Bring it in," he said, gathering them into his arms. "Bring it in. There we go."

The party didn't go off without a hitch, but it went pretty damn smoothly, all things considered. There was fruit. There were cups. There was ice. The frozen drinks machines ground away at the from-a-mix swill they had to serve, and the staffs of the two bars worked together well enough to keep pretty much everybody satisfied. The DJ that always did Pride at Any Port had found Hardison's setup more than acceptable and the walls were practically rattling with tried-and-true hits. By the middle of it, Eliot was confident enough that things were working out that he went and tried to find his partners on the dance floor. He was pretty sure Parker was somewhere in the middle of the crowd, and he was pretty sure she was grinding on Hardison, and that wasn't something he wanted to miss. But the crowd was packed in tightly, and before he could work his way in, somebody on the edges tripped and fell into his arms. He opened his arms reflexively and caught them: a cloud of pink hair and a lot of tattoos. 

He set her on her feet again. "Hey, Jane. I like your hair."

"Oh, hey, it's Copface," she said. "You know it's a wig, right? I do have a day job. Enjoying your ongoing surveillance of the queer community?"

"My name is Eliot," he said, and suddenly he was so damn tired of being assumed straight. He wanted to talk about it, all the times people's eyes had skidded over him and dismissed him, all the times he'd probably done the same. He wanted to talk about it with someone who wasn't Hardison, because as much as he loved Hardison, it kind of sucked to be the one who didn't know things in their relationship. There were some teacher/student fantasies he could get behind, and Hardison did his best to explain things in a gentle way, but Eliot just needed another perspective sometimes, and he didn't know anybody but Jane. Not like he knew Jane either, but at least he knew her name, and that was more than he knew about any of the rest of the regulars at the events Hardison had planned.

"This isn't surveillance," he told her. 

"Oh yeah?" she shot back. "A straight guy strolling into Pride to make sure we're not getting too close doesn't sound much like an ally." 

"I'm not straight," he said, and froze for a second, even though there was almost no way anybody else could overhear them, as loud as the music was. Goddamn, he hoped it would get easier to say it someday. Maybe he just hadn't said it enough. "Hardison — Alec — he's my boyfriend. And Parker, the blond one, she's my girlfriend."

Jane nodded. "My respect for you has increased very slightly, but you still have a cop face."

"That's fair," Eliot said. "I've been told that before."

"Also, you acted like a dick when we met. I guess now I know that you thought I was trying to steal your boyfriend, but still." Jane leaned in close so he could hear her over the pounding bass line of the music. "I wasn't trying to steal your boyfriend."

"Uh huh," Eliot said, raising one eyebrow at her. 

"I wasn't trying to _steal_ your boyfriend," Jane insisted. "Borrow, maybe. But only if he was into it. And I didn't know he was your boyfriend. I mean, you call him by his last name."

"Now you know," Eliot said. "Still wanna borrow my boyfriend?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. He's hot." She eyed him up and down. "Your girlfriend can come too, if she wants." 

"Me, not so much," Eliot said. 

"You, not so much," Jane agreed. "Nothing personal. Just people who act like douchebag frat bros to establish their territory aren't really my thing."

Eliot laughed. "Wow. You really got me pegged."

"No thanks," she said, winking. 

Eliot leaned close to her ear. "I'd ask you to give me another chance, but I don't want you to think I'm trying something."

"I'm a little drunk, so I kind of think everybody's trying something," Jane yelled. "That happens a lot at this party. You know, consensually. That's kind of why we're all here. It's not for the top shelf booze."

"Not like a romantic second chance," Eliot said. "I just...I don't have a lot of queer friends. I actually don't have any queer friends and I kind of think I need some. I know Hardison thinks you're cool. Parker too."

"Do they?" Jane said, narrowing her eyes. "What do you think my chances are?"

"You'd have to ask them," Eliot told her, and wow, that was definitely a conversation they were going to have to have, whether or not there was more to their arrangement than a triangle. "But the point is, I'd like to be your friend. If you'll have me. I think I could really use a friend."

"No more cracks about gaming?" she demanded. 

"I promise," he said. 

"No more draping yourself over Alec like you think I'm about to ravish him in front of your very eyes?" Jane asked.

Eliot paused. "Only if it's funny," he said.

"Okay," Jane said. "I can live with that." She nodded her head and drained the dregs of the cup she was somehow still holding. "Hey, Eliot Copface. Am I the first person you've told? You kind of had that look."

"Outside my family?" Eliot asked, thinking for a second about how what "family" meant had shifted over the last ten years. "Yeah. I mean, maybe people know, but I haven't said it before."

"Okay," Jane said. "That's something. Now we're friends." She fumbled her phone out of her bra and handed it to Eliot. The screen was a little sweaty. "Put your number in," she told him. "We'll hang out sometime."

He dutifully entered his information and saved it under "Eliot Copface Alec's Boyfriend" so she'd remember later when she was less drunk. He handed the phone back and she stuffed it back into her top. 

"Take me to your hot partners," she said, grabbing his hand and leaving her empty cup on a nearby table. "We have to celebrate our newly-forged bond with dancing and carousing." He led her through the crowd, wedging people apart with his shoulder, until they found Parker and Hardison, who both had that glazed-over look of sweaty delight that came from being full of alcohol and surrounded by joy. Parker shrieked and flung herself at Eliot, kissing his cheeks sloppily, and Hardison leaned over to kiss him too. 

"Happy Pride, baby," he said into Eliot's ear, and then saw Jane. "Hey, Jane! Happy Pride." He offered her a high five and she slapped his hand.

"Eliot told me," she said. "You do realize you're dating a guy with a cop face, right?"

"I do," Hardison said, with that expression drunk people had when they were trying to be serious. "But let me tell you — it's great for role play."

"I can see that now," Jane said. "Anyway, we're friends now and he said he's coming to Game Night and joining my campaign and he wants to be a barbarian."

"I never said any of that," Eliot objected. "Except the friends part."

"He's going to want to fight everything," Hardison said to Jane. "I'll just tell you that right now for free. His solution to pretty much every problem is punching."

"I am not playing Dragon Dungeons or whatever," Eliot said loudly. 

"That's what they all say," Jane said. She raised one hand and made it dive sharply, watching its progress with one eye shut. "Slippery slope, my guy. Slippery slope." 

"I want to be a dragon," Parker said. 

"You can be whatever color dragon your heart desires," Jane promised her. 

Parker's eyes were wide. "Can I be a magic dragon?"

"Absolutely," Jane said. "A magic dragon with a fancy hat and a talking animal companion. As your dungeon master, I grant you these rare items because you're cute."

"Let's dance," Parker said, grabbing her hands and dragging her deeper into the crowd of gyrating bodies. Hardison put his arm around Eliot's neck. 

"Hey," he said as softly as he could and still be heard. "That's a big step, baby. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks," Eliot said, and it wasn't enough for all that Hardison and Parker had given him, wasn't the right word, but it was all he had. "We change together, right? For better."

"For better," Hardison said, and it sounded even more like a wedding vow than it had the first time. 

"And we're not going to end up doing this on no notice again next year?" Eliot asked. "Because yeah, we did it, but I want lead time."

Hardison snorted. "No, we are not doing this again if we don't have some kind of turnaround time. Cross my heart." 

"You better do it," Eliot said.

"Okay, fine," Hardison said, and crossed his heart. "There. You happy?"

"I am so happy," Eliot said, and yeah, he really was. "Let's go celebrate." 

They closed the place down and then had to help the staff clean up and reset for brunch in the morning, but it was worth it. Eliot held Parker and Hardison close as they fell asleep together in an exhausted, barely-showered heap, and his heart was so, so full and tender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not do any research on gay bars in Portland for this story, but if there's not a gay bar called Any Port, there really should be.


	5. Year Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot encounters a group of teens who take issue with the fact that the Bridgeport, a Pride venue, isn't queer-owned.

They didn't, thank the Lord and little apples, have to host the afterparty two years in a row, but they still got plenty of traffic after the parade, from all the people who were too young or too old or too sensible to spend their Saturday packed into a mass of swaying intoxicated partiers. They were an official Pride venue now, with the Bridgeport logo on all the official materials with the rest of the sponsors. Most of the events were established enough that they ran pretty much like clockwork, but the post-parade crowd came in unpredictable waves since they weren't close enough to John McCall Park to be most people's first choice. Eliot was on the floor, doing what needed to be done, making sure everything ran smoothly. The staff were all in their rainbow shirts again this year, half of them covered in pins proclaiming their various alliances and preferences. Eliot, in his summer usual of a short-sleeved button up over a long-sleeved t-shirt, nodded at them and gave thumbs-up and high fives as they passed. He didn't look like staff, but people didn't usually argue about who brought their food or poured their drinks.

"Hey, Eliot," one of them said as she carried a tray past him. Mara, he reminded himself. She was pregnant and just starting to show. Her partner came in to pick her up at the end of every shift, pretty much. Eliot had always thought it was sweet. "I really, really, really have to pee. Can you take these to those kids at table twelve?"

"Absolutely," he said, taking the tray carefully. "Don't feel like you have to hurry back."

"Thanks," Mara said, throwing him a grateful look as she hurried off.

Eliot carried the tray over to the table she'd indicated: mocktails and snacks for a group of what looked like high schoolers. They were clearly fresh from the parade. They had glitter and eyeliner everywhere, flags drawn on their cheeks and draped around their shoulders, and the white ones had the beginnings of some fresh sunburns.

"Order up," he announced. "I got a couple of pomegranitas, what looks like a mint lemonade, three iced coffees, a water with no ice, and two orders of fries." They raised their hands reluctantly — definitely high schoolers — and he distributed everything around the table. The fries went in the middle, of course, with the little ramekins of ranch and aïoli and ketchup around them.

"What happened to our other server?" one of them asked. She had the sides of her dark blond head buzzed, and her bangs flopped into her eyes. 

"She's on break," Eliot said with a smile. "Can I get you all anything else while I'm here? Extra sauces? You can't ever have too much ketchup."

"Yeah, we're good," one of the others said in a condescending drawl, eyeing him up and down. "I think we'll wait for our other server to come back." 

"If that's what you want," Eliot said, tucking the tray under his arm and rubbing his hands together. "But I gotta tell you, she might be a while and I'll probably be the one taking care of you for a minute. Mara's great, but as one of the owners of this place, you're not going to get bad service from me. Plus I made all the sauces myself this morning, so, you know, it's kind of me either way. Just sayin'." He put his hands up in what he hoped looked like a friendly gesture.

"This is my problem with the Portland Pride, Laney," the second teen said to the first one. His cheeks were flushed pink, half burgeoning sunburn and half righteous grumpiness. "They don't prioritize queer-owned venues. I mean, yeah, it seems like they've hired some queer staff, but we don't know that's not just so they look good. I'd love to see who conveniently 'quits' in July."

"Now hold on a second," Eliot said. "We did hire a few extra people this month, but that's just because we're busier than we are the rest of the year. Nobody gets hired or fired because they're queer." That was mostly true, anyway. He'd definitely found himself hiring more and more people who weren't straight as he'd become more and more a part of the community. Part of it was word of mouth — the more people who came to game night and the brunches, the more they recommended the Bridgeport to their friends who were looking for jobs — but part of it was just because he wanted to make those kinds of opportunities for people. The Bridgeport wasn't a gay bar, but it was known as a queer-friendly venue at this point, and the more support he could offer to the community, the better he felt. The people he'd met over the years were good people, as a rule. Maybe he wasn't ever going to be hosting the parade, but he could quietly put money back into the community, since they'd invested in him. 

"I mean, you can say that all you want," said the second teen, "but the fact is that Pride events should be held in queer-owned spaces. You shouldn't make money off of us. Any kind of profit that comes from a queer event should stay in the community."

"The food is really good here, though," said a third teen, a sweet-faced kid with what Eliot had learned was the trans flag painted across their brown cheek. 

"Thank you," Eliot said, smiling at the kid. "I appreciate that. We really try to keep it fresh and local and invest in small farms." 

"That's not the point," said the second teen firmly. "The point is, I come to Pride to be with my people in our spaces, not to have to deal with some super-straight dude who wants to profit off our celebrations." He gestured at Eliot. "Look, he isn't even bothering to wear the rainbow shirt that everyone else who works here is wearing. That's like the least possible effort he could make to pretend he isn't just doing this for the money. He literally dressed his employees up to make it look like this place is a queer venue just so they could get more customers." 

Eliot laughed in disbelief. "Buddy, I promise you this isn't just for the money."

"I'm not your buddy," sneered the teen. 

"Jack, calm down," said one of the others who hadn't spoken yet. They had on a flower crown and a rainbow scarf that looked a lot like Hardison's. They looked a lot like a teen Hardison, actually, except with more hair. "Just because he's straight doesn't mean his intentions are bad."

"It doesn't mean they're good either, Miles," Jack snapped. "This is the problem with capitalism — even our pride gets monetized."

Eliot cleared his throat. "Man, I definitely see where you're coming from, but there's kind of a fundamental error to your thinking here. I'm not straight."

Jack looked him up and down again. "You. Aren't straight." He pursed his lips and arched his eyebrows. "Wow, I didn't know the food here came with a free comedy show."

"Listen, just because I'm not wearing a rainbow doesn't mean I'm straight," Eliot said.

Jack rolled his eyes. "No, but those flared jeans do. No self-respecting gay man would wear those. They're practically bell bottoms. And those boots, ugh."

"I'm not gay either," Eliot said. "Look, I own this place with my two partners." He glanced around. "See that guy over there? He's wearing your same scarf?" He gestured to Teen Four. "He's one of them. The other one is, uh, wow, I guess that lady who's currently standing on the bar throwing confetti over everyone." He sighed. "Gonna have to make a no-confetti rule along with a no-glitter rule, I guess."

"Yeah, well, anyone could say that," Jack sniffed. "You could have just picked two randos out of the crowd."

"Jack, shut up," said Miles. "I know that other guy. He runs the game night, and he's like the world's best FPS gamer."

"There's no way the world's best FPS gamer hangs out in a bar in Portland," Laney said.

"It's a brewpub," Eliot said. "Not that it matters." He carefully didn't say that the world's best hacker was definitely hanging out in a brewpub in Portland.

"Whatever," Miles insisted. "He's really good. And I think I've seen this guy too. He plays in that tabletop campaign sometimes with that lady who has like six hundred wigs in different colors."

"Oh, that, yeah," Eliot said. "She kind of made me play. Against my will. I lost a bet. It's a long story. But it's not so bad." He'd refused to be a fighter and tried to be a sorcerer instead, but fighting with magic instead of his fists went against every instinct he had and he'd kept forgetting he had spells. Jane had finally given up and talked him into being a monk instead. Parker played a thief who was some kind of dragon person and cheerfully disregarded all the rules. It could have been worse. At least he had made friends, even a couple of buddies who, like him, had come to terms with their sexuality kind of later in life, and one or two who'd also been in the military and understood all the bullshit baggage he still carried around from that, plus all the things that still mattered somewhere deep in the core of him. He had people to talk to. The whole thing had been pretty much Queer History 201 - he knew a lot more about asexuality and nonbinary people and polyamory now, plus the whole spectrum of gender expression and what it meant to be trans. He might not be an expert on anything but his own sexuality, which actually was kind of a weak claim when he thought about it, but he'd been learning. "Anyway. Yeah, we make money during Pride, and yeah, I might not look like I belong here to you, but this is a queer-owned venue. You can believe it or not."

"Well," Jack said, looking away. "You could at least wear the shirt." He sipped at his pomegranita in a way that Eliot found entirely obnoxious, but also kind of endearing in that "you little shit" kind of teenage way. At least the frozen drinks machines hadn't been a total loss. 

"Here," said a fifth teen suddenly. She took a pin off her suspenders and handed it to him. She looked South Asian, Eliot thought. Her dark eyes were lined with black and the lids were daubed with blue, pink, and purple glitter. "I mean, if you want it." 

Eliot looked in his palm. The pin was the bi flag. "Thank you," he said. "That's very kind of you. I'm Eliot, by the way." He reached inside his shirt and attached the pin, making sure it wasn't too crooked. His heart felt soft. She saw him, who he was, and knew that somehow, they were the same, and that meant something. 

She smiled shyly at him. "I'm Rani. I can't wear it at home anyway. Not yet. I mean, maybe I could, but it's just kind of easier not to deal with it right now. But now maybe people won't be jerks to you." She glared at Jack.

"I appreciate it," Eliot told her. "You got my back. Sometimes we all need someone to protect us. And hey, you're always welcome at game night. It's kind of the unofficial year-round Pride event at this point. All ages. It's free. Thursday nights when there's nothing much else going on. We do move it if there's a soccer game."

"Hell yeah," said the other two teens in unison. Eliot nodded at them. 

"Gotta have our priorities straight," he said. "Metaphorically speaking. But we always show the games if we can, and you're welcome to that too." He spotted Mara on the other side of the restaurant. "Looks like your regular server's back from break. Can I get you anything before I head back to the kitchen?"

"We're good," said Rani. 

"All right then," Eliot said. "You have a great day now. Enjoy being yourselves."

"We will," she said, and she looked so emotional about the whole thing that Eliot had to leave before he felt all kinds of tugging on his heartstrings. He walked over to the bar and climbed up on a chair so he could take away Parker's bag of confetti. 

"They said it was fine!" she said, trying to keep it away from him. "They think it's pretty!"

"It's pretty until somebody slips on it," Eliot growled, and picked her up off the bar. She pretended to struggle as he set her on the floor, pouting up at him. 

"You owe me some fun later," she said.

"I'll give you all the fun you can handle later," Eliot said. "Right now I've got to sweep up all this confetti, unless you want to do that." The people she'd been sprinkling confetti on pretended not to listen. 

"Oops," Parker said. "I think I hear Hardison calling me." She cupped her hand around her ear with an exaggerated gesture. "Gotta go."

"That's what I thought," Eliot said, and went to get the broom. He swept up the confetti and went to dump it in the trash. As he walked to the trashcan, he noticed people were glancing at him, catching his pin, and smiling at him. He dumped the confetti, put away the broom, and washed his hands at the bar sink. 

"Hey," he said to Mara, who happened at the cash register as he was drying his wet hands. "Send an extra order of fries to table twelve for me and put everything they ordered on my tab."

"You got it, boss," said Mara. "You sure? That one is kind of bratty. I kind of got the impression he'd mouthed off to you."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Eliot said. "They're just teenagers." He shrugged. "They can't help mouthing off to someone. Doesn't hurt me any."

"Hmm," Mara said. "I like the pin."

"Yeah, one of the kids at table twelve gave it to me," he said. "Rani." He gestured at his eyes. "The one with all the glitter. Sweet kid." 

"I'm just going to say a lot of us have been wondering," Mara told him. "You three don't exactly seem like business partners."

"We're partners in a lot of things," Eliot said. "Business. Life. A lot of things." He looked up and caught a glimpse of Hardison and Parker talking to Amy and couldn't help smiling. Parker was throwing her hands around, probably telling the story about how Big Bad Eliot took away all her Confetti of Joy and Pride. She'd gotten a lot more intense about the Leverage stuff lately. Masterminding was a tough job and she was definitely rising to the occasion, but he was also glad that the brewpub was a place that she could blow off steam. Everybody needed an outlet. His was the kitchen. Hers could be Pride confetti. She and Hardison looked over at him and the old familiar electricity shot through him. Goddammit, he loved them. 

"Good to know," Mara said. 

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Hey, don't worry about the kids not tipping since they're not paying either. I got you. Pretty sure coming to work pregnant should be worth hazard pay anyway." 

"It's not so bad," Mara said, putting her hands at the base of her spine and stretching. "I mean, it's not great, but it could be worse." 

"I'm thinking we might start offering paid family leave," Eliot said. "I'll keep you updated."

"You guys are pretty good bosses," Mara said. "If I have to work, I'm kind of glad it's for you." She patted him on the arm and went to get the fries for table twelve. Eliot looked out over the space that he and Hardison and Parker had built and nodded. 

Later, when they'd left the closing of the restaurant to their more-than-capable staff, he and Hardison and Parker were hanging out in the apartment. Eliot cracked open a beer for each of them. Not that they didn't make plenty of the stuff on site, but sometimes it was just easier to drink something someone else's labor had made. He brought them over to the couch.

"Thanks, baby," Hardison said. 

"This doesn't make up for my confetti," Parker told him.

"I know it doesn't," Eliot said, sitting down next to her and putting his hand on her thigh. She clinked her bottle against his. "I'm prepared to do my penance for that. I'll spend all night on my knees if I have to. Still a health and safety hazard, though."

"Sounds like it's going to be a good night to me," Hardison said. He jerked his chin in the direction of Eliot's chest. "Nice pin."

"A kid gave it to me," Eliot told him. "I got half-cussed out by a table full of teenagers for this place not being queer-owned but still a Pride venue."

"A table full of severely misinformed teenagers," Hardison said.

"You can't tell by looking," Parker said. "I thought people would know that by now."

"We worked it out," Eliot told him. "I mean, they kind of had a point. It shouldn't be something other people do to profit off of. It should be queer spaces that make any money off Pride, at least where queer spaces exist."

"I'm not arguing with that," Hardison said. "But they didn't have to cuss you out."

"I wasn't wearing the shirt, so it made sense," Eliot said. "I did kind of look like the asshole who wants everyone to know he isn't one of them." He paused. "He said my jeans made me look straight."

Hardison shook his head. "Don't get me started on all that straight-passing nonsense. It's not like you wouldn't still feel it if someone assumed you were in on the so-called joke and started saying homophobic shit just because you wear what might be the least-flattering jeans in the history of mankind." 

"Amen," Parker said, raising her beer.

"My jeans aren't that bad," Eliot said.

"Your jeans are exactly that bad," Hardison told him, and Parker nodded. 

"What if I had to fight?" Eliot demanded. "I need freedom of movement." He shifted his hips to demonstrate. 

"You need a wardrobe adjustment," Hardison told him. "And I say that with all the love in my heart and all the lust in my loins." 

"I can get you some leather pants," Parker said. "I think I said I know a guy. Oooh, or assless chaps."

"All chaps are assless," Eliot said automatically. "That's why they're chaps. They're just meant to protect your lower legs from brush and thorns and stuff. You have to have your inner thighs bare so you can still grip the saddle."

"Please say more about the thighs gripping," Parker said. "I'm interested."

"I second that," Hardison said, raising his beer. "More about that. Thighs. Gripping. Mmhmm."

"We're getting Eliot chaps," Parker told him. "Grippy thighs are good for climbing ropes."

"Baby girl, we are absolutely getting him chaps," Hardison agreed. "And some jeans tight enough that he can actually wear the chaps over them without looking like he's in leather harem pants."

Eliot shook his head. "I can't wear tight pants. I still have enemies. I have to be able to move."

"I wear tight pants," Parker reminded him. "I can still move." 

"You wear spandex," Eliot argued. "I can't wear spandex. There would be bulges."

"Hell yeah there would," Hardison said. He leaned down and picked up a paper gift bag from the floor. "Speaking of clothes, I got you a little something."

"It's not chaps, is it?" Eliot said, taking the bag.

"We're getting those made to measure," Hardison said. "From Parker's leather guy. Just open it."

Eliot tugged aside the tissue paper and pulled out a t-shirt. It was pale pink, and on the front, there was a picture of brass knuckles rendered in the colors of the bi flag and "Bifurious" written over it in jagged letters. 

"This is kind of amazing," he said slowly.

"Put it on," Parker said, her hands already unbuttoning his overshirt in a way she probably thought was helpful but which was, in fact, extremely distracting. Eliot let her tug his shirt off and he pulled Hardison's t-shirt over his head. It was a very snug fit, clinging to Eliot's arms and chest.

"Oops, my bad," Hardison said in a voice so insincere it verged on ridiculous. "Gosh, wow, can't believe I managed to buy the wrong size again."

Parker shook her head. "Every time, Hardison." She grinned. 

"I love you idiots," Eliot said. 

"We love you too," Parker told him. 

"Is that any way to say thank you?" Hardison asked. "I think you can come up with better than that."

"Oh, I can," Eliot promised, and took them to bed and showed them how grateful he was.

The next week, he put a pride flag sticker inside the window of the Bridgeport, over the sticker that showed what credit cards they accepted and the recommendation from the local guide, and upgraded their sponsorship level for the next year's Pride. It was time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure you can get that Bifurious t-shirt from LookHuman, or at least you could a few years ago.


	6. Year Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot starts an open mic night for Pride.

By the next June, Eliot had acquired a variety of clearly-not-straight items of clothing, between birthdays and Christmas and no-reason presents and his own impulse buys. He had chaps too, and Parker had gotten some presents of her own from the leather fairy, but that was a whole different story. He had a small collection of queer-themed t-shirts, plus a couple of plaid shirts that tended towards blues, pinks, and purples for year-round wear. He even had a pair of cutoff jean shorts that showed a lot more than he'd ever intended, but Parker especially liked it when he wore them, so he indulged her sometimes when they were at home. And he had a handful of the rainbow Bridgeport t-shirts, in the right size, in short and long sleeves, despite the fact that Hardison kept trying to slide smaller ones into his dresser drawers.

"I'm ready," he told Hardison and Parker in mid-April, riding back from one of their Leverage International jobs. Another win under their belts, another couple of million in their bank accounts and more than that redistributed. "Pride doesn't know what's coming for it. Eliot Spencer, that's what."

"Hey," Hardison said, "do you...do you want to plan some kind of event for Pride this year? I've got the game night and Parker does the decorations. I know you help run the whole restaurant and plan the menus and all that, but if you want to add something to the roster, I'm open to ideas."

"Huh," Eliot said. "I'll think about it."

It was pretty much all he thought about for the next couple of days, just letting the idea turn over in his mind. What did he have to add to the celebrations? What kind of opportunities could he open up for the other queer people to express their own experiences? He was still learning about the whole wide world of queer art and music. He thought about Jane and all the people he'd met. He thought about the table full of queer teens who had thought he was taking something from them. He wanted to hear what other people had to say.

He caught Hardison right before the dinner rush. "Open mic night," he said.

"For Pride?" Hardison asked.

"Yeah," Eliot said. "For Pride. Open mic night for Pride."

"Sounds good," Hardison said. "I'll put it on the calendar. You're singing, right?"

"I can sing," Eliot told him.

"You better," Hardison told him. 

"If you say a word that even sort of sounds like the word 'pitchy'," Eliot said, narrowing his eyes, "you're gonna spend the whole month of June involuntarily celibate. I will pay Parker to make sure of it. You know how much she loves money. More than sex, for sure. Probably more than us."

Hardison put his hands up. "I learned my lesson, baby. You sound like an angel. A real country angel, but an angel nonetheless." He leaned in and kissed Eliot on the cheek. "I can't wait to hear you."

Eliot just went out and bought a guitar and practiced until he had his calluses back. He went up to the roof, mostly. It felt like a private thing. He wasn't playing his own songs or anything. He just wanted to wait for Parker and Hardison to hear him. It was kind of nice to do something on his own that didn't involve punching anyone. The fresh air was nice too. 

The night of the open mic, he made sure he was wearing one of his rainbow Bridgeport t-shirts. He put a long-sleeved plaid shirt over it, unbuttoned, and rolled up the sleeves just right. He even wore his tight jeans. There wouldn't be any fighting tonight. It was humid and his hair was wavier than normal. He pulled half of it back just so it wouldn't be in his face. It felt good. He saw himself when he looked in the mirror, but he also saw a man who wasn't afraid to say he was queer, to have his clothes broadcast it for him. He'd come a long way. He nodded at his face in the mirror and picked up his guitar. 

They were established enough as a Pride venue that he thought people would come for the open mic, but there was always a chance they wouldn't. He tried not to worry about it. There was a different party scheduled what felt like every night in June. Even the fact that the open mic was all-ages might not be enough draw. But the night came and the place was packed. Eliot stood in the corner of the room with his guitar case and looked around the room. There was a stage set up against one wall, with a mic and lights and any kind of connection somebody might need. He saw other people with instruments, intense-looking teens humming to themselves, a group that looked like maybe they sang barbershop. There were even people in black turtlenecks, clutching notebooks full of what was no doubt extremely personal, extraordinarily tedious poetry. Eliot couldn't wait to hear it. He might even snap his fingers. 

"This is going to be fun," Parker said, leaning over his shoulder. 

"I will never get used to you coming out of nowhere," Eliot said. 

"I hope not," Parker told him cheerfully. "I enjoy surprising you."

"Kiss for luck?" he asked.

"Hmm," she said, leaning in close. 

"You don't believe in luck," he said at the same time she whispered, "I don't believe in luck," but her lips were close enough to brush his, so it didn't have as much impact. "Also, you don't need any luck," she added. "I'll kiss you after you play."

"Promise?" he asked.

"Cross my heart," she said, her finger drawing the pattern on his shirt. "Oops. Wrong one." She smiled at him and traced an X on her own chest. 

"Are we getting soft?" he asked. "Losing our edge?"

"No," she said decisively. "We're in love. It's okay to be soft." She smiled at him. "It makes us stronger in other ways. I didn't think it would, but I was wrong."

"Huh," he said. 

"Go," she said, nudging him with her elbow. "Everyone's waiting for you to get things started." She smacked him on the ass as he went. "Go get 'em, tiger."

"We are gonna discuss that later," he growled at her as he went toward the stage. 

"Hey, hello," he said into the mic, setting down his guitar. "I'm Eliot." He pointed at his rainbow t-shirt. "I'm one of the people who runs this place. Glad you could all make it out to our inaugural open mic night." He knelt and clicked open the latches on the case, taking out his guitar. He slung the strap over his shoulder as he stood up again. "Uh, I figured to kind of take the stress off anyone going first, I'd just open things up, if that's all right with you." He played a couple of chords just to loosen his fingers up as people whooped and clapped. He was pretty sure he recognized some of those cheering voices, or at least two of them. "So I'm gonna sing a song, and then we'll take people in the order they come up. Whatever you're bringing to the table is welcome as long as it's appropriate for all ears."

"Let us have it, cowboy!" yelled someone who sounded suspiciously like Hardison. 

"Yeah," Eliot said, and started strumming. "This is, uh, this is a little Randy Travis for you. It's called 'Forever and Ever, Amen'[🎶](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sgJXbIP83A8). Kinda old school, kinda classic. Feel free to sing along if you know it." He was aware that most of the people in the room probably didn't know the song. It wasn't a very country crowd, and the song was old. But it was a love song, one he'd grown up with, and he wanted to sing it to Hardison and Parker, in front of everyone, and have them know it. He heard a few people singing along, and he got a fair amount of applause when he was done. 

"Thank you," he said, raising one hand and ducking his head. When he looked offstage there was already a line of people waiting to come on the stage. "All right, seems like we've got plenty of talent here tonight, so please welcome our next act."

Predictably, most of the performances were in the range of mediocre to average, but one of the teenagers had some really good poetry, actually, and the barbershop group sounded great. There was a woman who came up and sang some old Billie Holiday songs in a voice that almost broke Eliot's heart. The crowd was supportive and it looked like everyone was having a good time. There were still people waiting at 11 when Eliot had to wrap everything up. He hopped onto the stage between acts and stepped up to the mic.

"Wow," he said, looking around and clapping his hands. "And I mean wow. How about another round of applause for all our performers tonight? I gotta say, when I was planning this, I did not anticipate this kind of response. I think it's pretty clear the next one needs to start even earlier so everyone can get home by bedtime, huh?" Chuckles from the crowd. "Thanks for coming out tonight. You were all great and it just warms my heart to see this kind of turnout in support of the community. You know, here at the Bridgeport, we're trying to be a space for every voice and I just really appreciate everyone who got up here and shared something tonight, and everyone who listened."

"Encore!" shouted someone from the crowd, and it quickly got picked up over Eliot's protestations. Hardison brought up the guitar and put it over Eliot's head. 

"Give the people what they want!" Hardison said into the mic, and everyone cheered.

"All right, all right," Eliot said. "I only rehearsed the one song, though, so whatever happens, happens." But his fingers were already moving over the frets, and the words were there when he reached for them. It was a newer song by a band out of Nashville[🎶](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivYkyC8J29M). He knew it was the wrong choice as soon as he started, but there wasn't anything else. There was only the song pouring out of him, soft and slow and mournful, listing all the reasons he wasn't sad and waiting for the reason he was. He was crying by the time he hit the chorus.

"It's knowing that this can't go on forever," he sang, his voice raspy. "Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone. Maybe we'll get forty years together, but one day I'll be gone, or one day you'll be gone."

He looked up. Hardison and Parker were standing in front of the stage. Hardison had his arm around Parker and tears were running down both of their faces. He kept playing. There was nothing else to do. He sang about the immortality they didn't have. He sang about hoping he wasn't the one left behind, and he knew they could hear the truth in that. They weren't his words, but he meant every one of them. They could get along without him, if they had each other. He didn't know if he could anymore.

There were a lot of people crying by the time he was done. He had tears dripping down his chin from trying to keep his mouth by the mic. 

"I, uh," he said, and cleared his throat. "That was kind of a downer. Sorry about that." He wiped his eyes, letting people see he was crying. He wanted them to see it, to know that crying was all right in this place they'd built. He wanted Parker to see that feelings weren't toxic. 

"You got anything else?" someone said. Eliot looked up and saw Jane. She had mascara streaks on her cheeks and she was glaring at him. "Something less fucking sad, my apologies to the children and the delicate present."

"Uh," Eliot said. His mind was blank. The only thing he could think of was Hardison and Parker, how love made them strong. "Okay. Yeah. I got some more Randy Travis in me. This one's a lot happier. You'll like it. We're gonna make this a little singalong, just because we can. So when you hear the chorus come around, just remember: your love is deeper than the holler, yes, cityfolk, I said the holler[🎶](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ffo3yKFjYmA). What's your love deeper than?"

"The holler," came the ragged response. 

"All right," Eliot said. "So, deeper than the holler, stronger than the rivers. You know what, I'm just gonna play it, and you'll pick it up as we go along." He played through the chorus a few times until the majority of people seemed to have it and then launched into the first verse. By the end of the song, pretty much everyone was singing along and there was hardly anybody sniffling. 

"I got one more," Eliot said. "You got one more in you? I promise it's a happy one. Again, sing along if you know it. This one's 'In Your Light' by Gotcha[🎶](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4HwgDDw5350). Uh, Goyte." He laughed. "I get it. Like that French guy. Never put that one together before." He shook his head at himself and started playing. It was an upbeat song, not meant for one guy with an acoustic guitar, but he strummed along and slapped the strings against the frets. By the time he was halfway through, people were dancing, so he kept stretching it out for a few minutes until everybody looked pretty happy. He finished with a flourish and took off the guitar, setting it gently on the chair next to him.

"Thanks for coming out!" he said. "Some of us pretty literally, am I right?"

"Tip your waitstaff!" Amy put in from behind the bar.

Eliot pointed at her. "That too. Good night, everybody! We'll be open a while longer, but I've gotta take this with me." He picked up the mic and disconnected it, waving it in the air and smiling. He took it and the guitar through the employees-only door that led to their apartment and leaned against the wall, his eyes closed.

"Holy shit," he said to himself. "I need a drink." He put the guitar and the mic on the island. He'd left the case out in the dining room, but he wasn't going back out there. He'd poured his heart out on the stage. He just needed a moment. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and opened it. The cool fizz of it soothed his throat. He closed his eyes again. He hadn't meant to sing the Jason Isbell song. It had just been the only thing there in that moment when he'd reached for music. There on stage at the queer open mic night, the only thing his heart had wanted was to tell his partners how much they meant to him, even if it was with a song about vampires, or not being vampires, and what that meant for how things would inevitably end. He sighed and slumped over the counter. 

Love was a fucking kick in the teeth, that was for sure.

He was almost finished with his beer when Hardison came in. "Have you seen Parker?"

Eliot straightened up. "No, I thought she was with you."

"Nah, I looked up after you finished and she was long gone," Hardison said. "Great job, by the way." He came over and kissed Eliot lingeringly, but he seemed distracted. "Didn't know you were going to make me cry, but it's all right."

"I didn't know either," Eliot said. "It just happened. I didn't even know I knew that whole song."

"Well, you stomped on everybody's hearts," Hardison said. "Ours included. I think maybe Parker was not okay about it."

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Let's go find her."

"While we find her, we can talk about how every queer person getting married in Portland in the next few years is going to want you to sing at their wedding," Hardison said. "And some of the straight ones."

"That's not happening," Eliot said.

"Wait and see," Hardison said. 

It took a couple of hours, which is what they'd expected. It was a big building and Parker was little and very accustomed to not being found. They'd checked all the rooms first, just in case, and then all the closets, and then everywhere with rooftop access. Hardison spotted her first. She was on one of the rafters above the brewing tanks, perched up there like a tragic little bird. 

"Park- Parker!" he called. "Eliot, get the ladder." Eliot jogged to the storeroom and brought back two ladders. He helped Hardison set up the first one and then propped the other one open for himself. They couldn't quite get to Parker, but they were at least close enough to talk to her. She was curled up in a ball, her arms wrapped around her knees, her eyes red.

"Parker, sweetheart," Eliot said. "We were worried about you."

"Sad," she said into her knees.

"I know, baby," Hardison said. "Come down and be sad on the ground, please." 

"Better up here," she said.

"Okay," Eliot told her. "You can be sad up there if you want." He glanced at Hardison. "Was it the song? I'm sorry about the song."

"I don't want you to be gone," she said in a voice so small they could barely hear it. 

"Parker, I'm not going anywhere," Eliot said. "We're not going anywhere. That's a promise. I swear to you, I am staying right here with you as long as I can."

"But you can't know," Parker said. "Like Sophie said. You can't know, and it hurts to think about it."

"Nobody can know," Hardison said. "Look at us, Parker. How many times have we made it through when we probably shouldn't have? You dug up my grave. We're still here."

"But one day we won't be," she said. They could hear that she was crying again, and trying not to. "I don't want to be alone. I've already been alone."

"We will never, ever leave you alone, Parker," Hardison assured her. "Not now, not ever."

"What if you die?" Parker asked. 

"Then I'll be a ghost and follow you around," Hardison said. "We'll both be ghosts."

"Yeah," Eliot said. "And everytime the wind blows, you'll hear us whispering your name. Parker. Paaarker."

"Okay, I was thinking more like sexy pottery class ghost, but that's fine too," Hardison said. "But one way or another, we'd find a way to show you we were still around."

"Ghost aren't real, probably," Parker said.

Hardison sighed. "Baby, if you or Eliot died tomorrow, you wouldn't have to be a ghost. You're here." He tapped his heart with his fist. "You live in here, forever. There's nothing and nobody who could take you from me. I know I live in you too."

"That's right," Eliot said. "You're in my bones, Parker. You're in my soul. There's not a power on this earth that can destroy that."

She sniffled. "Nuclear bomb."

"Nah," Hardison said. "Because you know what that would do, is just spread all my Parker-loving atoms all over the place, and then everyone would love you. They'd be irradiated with all my Parker-love."

"Dude, that's kind of grim," Eliot whispered to him, and Hardison glared at him. "I mean, uh, yeah," Eliot said, pitching his voice so Parker could hear him. "And when it rained, all that love would go into the soil, and then every flower that grew up out of it would love you too." 

"What if I died?" she said, so, so quietly.

"Parker, if you died, there'd be a hole in our hearts forever, but we'd keep going because you loved us," Eliot said. "You know how I told you about the time I got my leg broken in Kazakhstan?"

She nodded, the smallest of gestures.

"You know how I told you it healed just fine, I can do everything I could do before, but it still hurts every now and again? And it'll always hurt? It'd be like that," he told her. "Me and Hardison, we'd still have each other, and we'd still love each other, and we'd still love you too. You wouldn't be gone. You might not be here with us, but you'd never be gone."

"I don't want you to be alone," she said, sobbing just a little.

"We won't be alone," Hardison said. "We wouldn't be alone. Didn't we promise to change together?"

"For better or worse," she whispered.

"Okay, haven't we changed?" Hardison asked her.

She nodded. She was still crying, but not sobbing, just tears running down her face. 

Hardison tapped his chest again. "That's you. That's your legacy. Nothing can erase that. We changed each other. I'm a little bit Parker now and a little bit Eliot. None of us can ever be alone because we'll always be these new people we wouldn't have been if we hadn't loved each other."

"But there's only one way for this to end," Parker said. "I mean, best case scenario, we all die together. That's not a good scenario." 

"It wouldn't be for a job," Eliot said, "but dying is a kind of inevitable consequence of living. There's only one way it ever ends. It's not like a job. We can't plan for it. We don't get a choice." He reached up toward her with one hand. "Parker, I don't regret a single second of this. I'd rather die having known you, having loved you, than live forever."

"Like the song," she whispered.

"Yeah, but we could have fifty, sixty years left," Hardison said. "Or maybe someone will crack the code of immortality and we really will live forever and you won't have to worry about it. We can't know. I'd rather be with you, even if it might hurt more later, than miss out on this right now. This is everything to me. You two — you're everything to me."

"It's scary to be different," Parker said. "It snuck up on me. I don't like that."

"Yeah, it is kinda scary," Eliot said. "But do you like the person you are now?"

She nodded. 

"All right," Eliot said. He reached out for Hardison's hand. "What if you come down and we can all be brand new and scared together?"

"It still hurts," Parker said. 

"I know, baby," Hardison said. "It hurt me too. And you saw Eliot crying. He wasn't trying to hurt you. Sometimes we're just so happy that it's extra hard to imagine being sad. But it's just imaginary. We're all still here."

"I wish we could have the happy without the hurt," Eliot said. "But that's just not how it works."

"I didn't used to feel things like this," Parker said, wiping her eyes and nose on her sleeve. "It was easier."

"But were you happier?" Hardison asked.

She considered it. "Kind of. But also I wasn't happy at all."

"Well, there you go," Hardison said. "Sometimes you don't get to the beautiful thing without something else breaking."

"Like a caterpillar turning into a butterfly," Eliot suggested.

"I was going say like a vault with an unpickable lock, so you blow the wall," Hardison said. "But yours is good too." He squeezed Eliot's hand.

"Come on down, sweetheart," Eliot coaxed.

She sighed. "Will you make me some hot chocolate?"

"I'll make you hot chocolate and I'll bake you brownies," Eliot promised. 

"Damn, I need to be sad more often," Hardison said. "I want brownies."

"You can both have brownies," Eliot said. "After Parker comes down."

"Fine," she said.

"Do you want my ladder?" Hardison offered. "I'll hold it for you once I get to the bottom."

She frowned at him. "Why would I want your ladder?" She stood up on the beam. Graceful and surefooted as a dancer, she walked across it and climbed down the support attached to the wall.

"Okay, well, there's that," Hardison said. He let go of Eliot's hand. "Good work, partner."

"You too," Eliot said. They climbed down. Eliot stacked the ladders against the wall. He was exhausted, his whole soul wrung out. The ladders could wait until the morning.

"Hey, you weren't kidding about those brownies, were you?" Hardison asked. "I could use a little treat right about now. That was pretty terrifying."

Eliot pretended to glare at him. "I would never joke about brownies, Hardison." 

"All right, good," Hardison said, rubbing Eliot's back. "That's what I like to hear. And hey, if I didn't tell you earlier? You were amazing." He kissed Eliot. "I don't think this life is what any of us expected when we took Nate up on his offer, but I wasn't lying. I wouldn't trade it for anything."

"Me either," Eliot said. He kissed Hardison back. "Now let's go make brownies for our girl."

"Excuse me, I don't remember volunteering for that duty," Hardison said. "Why don't I comfort her on the couch with a good movie while you make the brownies? That sounds more like it to me." 

Eliot grumbled. "I bare my heart and soul on the stage for you and you won't even crack a couple of eggs?"

"Fine," Hardison said. "We'll do it together." He slung his arm around Eliot's neck. "We'll do all of it together."

Jane texted Eliot the next day and sent him a playlist labeled "Queer Songs That Aren't For Sad Assholes". "LEARN THESE," it said in all caps. "START WITH THE INDIGO GIRLS BECAUSE YOU'RE SECRETLY SOFT AND YOU'RE GOING TO LOVE THEM. IF YOU MAKE ME CRY AGAIN IN PUBLIC I WILL PLAN A REVENGE SO INTRICATE IT WILL LAST A HUNDRED YEARS."

He did really like The Indigo Girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, coffeesuperhero, for making me cry with the songs you listen to while you're cooking <3 >:(


	7. Year Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot plays a wedding.

Hardison was right about the weddings. After the open mic night, and especially after the open mic night had become a thing they did every month, Eliot got a lot of requests to play weddings. Usually he could say they were out of town, which was true. Leverage International took them pretty much everywhere. Otherwise, he could tell them he didn't really know any other songs yet and he hadn't had time to practice. He made sure to turn them down gently and remind them that the Bridgeport did catering.

"You sure you don't want to play a couple of weddings?" Hardison asked him. "I know how much you like to make people cry."

"It's rude," Parker said, licking ice cream off a spoon. "People don't like to cry."

"They do at weddings," Hardison said. 

"Ugh, why?" Parker asked.

"It's happy crying," Hardison said. "It's hard to explain."

"Yes, I'm sure," Eliot said gruffly. "Like we don't have enough to do. I don't need a third career. I'll cater a wedding, but I won't play one."

"Compared to how much we make on a real job, it's basically nothing," Parker added. "I mean, I'm guessing you can't charge two million dollars to play a wedding."

"That might be a little steep," Hardison said. 

But inevitably there was one request he couldn't turn down. It came right after Christmas. At Parker's insistence, they'd started doing a pay-what-you-can family-style meal for anyone without a family or who might find comfort in a new one, and though the first year had been just Christmas Day, they'd expanded it to run all week for those who might still have to see families they didn't feel a part of on the actual day. A surprising number of people showed up every year. He'd even seen the teens from Pride from a few years ago, who said they just needed to get out of the house for a few hours. Parker insisted it kept the Christmas magic going. She gave out little presents and draped everything in tinsel. Eliot thought about all the years she'd had no one and held her extra tight. 

It had been one of those days between Christmas and New Year's. An older couple had come into the brewpub, two women he thought were probably in their late 60s. Eliot recognized them as regulars. They came to the normal weekend brunch pretty consistently, sometimes alone and sometimes with friends. Sweet people, he thought. He had the impression that they always tipped well — he'd never served them, because he didn't do much serving during brunch, but he heard about the less-generous customers from the staff, and he knew that these two weren't any of the people the servers had told tales on. They'd come right up to the bar, holding hands and looking a little nervous.

"Hey there," he'd said warmly, "how can I help you? Here for a meal? Sit wherever you like. We've got turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes - all the good stuff."

They'd looked at each other, a little nervous and a lot joyful. Eliot knew that look. 

"We're getting married in late June," one of them had said, the shorter one. She introduced herself as Binh and her partner as Mai. She had just a hint of an accent. Sophie would have been fascinated. Eliot thought they were probably Southeast Asian, maybe of Vietnamese descent, but it wasn't like he was going to ask. 

"Congratulations," Eliot said. 

"We were hoping you were available to cater the ceremony," she said. "We love the food here. Everything's so fresh."

"Well, thank you, ma'am," he'd said, genuinely touched. "We do our best." They'd gone through all the details together, calendars and pricing. He'd put together a sample menu with them and scheduled a tasting. They were wrapping things up when Mai, the taller one, spoke up. She'd been quieter the whole time, taking everything in.

"We were at the open mic night," she said. "I know you're not a professional musician, but it was very touching. Would you consider playing at our wedding? Not the whole thing, of course. Maybe something instrumental that we could walk down the aisle to and a song for the first dance?"

Binh squeezed Mai's hand. "We weren't going to ask," she whispered. 

Eliot looked between them. "If I may ask, ma'am, how long have the two of you been together?"

"Thirty-five years," Mai said, and her voice was as proud and tender as if she were already saying her vows. 

"Wow," he said. "That's amazing. Really wonderful. And now you're getting married. That's great." 

"We didn't know if we'd ever feel like we needed to," Binh said, looking at Mai. "It was enough for so long that we knew we were committed to each other. It wasn't as if marriage was a possibility when we fell in love, not legally. But there comes a day when you just want to celebrate. And now we can. So we are."

God, he felt that.

"It was time," Mai said firmly. 

"Do you have a song in mind?" he asked. 

"'I Choose You'," Mai said. "The one by Sara Bareilles. It's very sweet."

"We have the rest of the music planned," Binh said. "Don't feel as if you have to say yes. We're happy that you can do the catering."

"Ma'am, I would love to play a few songs at your wedding," Eliot had told her, leaning over the bar. He put his hand over his heart. "It would be my honor." 

Mai's face had lit up. And that had been that. Eliot had spent a few weeks listening to different artists for the pre-ceremony instrumentals and settled on trying to sound like Kaki King. It sounded kind of like traditional Vietnamese guitar music, so he'd be nodding to their heritage without accidentally playing the wrong song. When he'd played a little bit for Mai and Binh during one of their tasting sessions, they'd nodded in approval. He'd been practicing for months. The roof hadn't really been an option for most of it, but Parker and Hardison hadn't seemed to mind. 

"You're really good," Parker told him, the night before the wedding. She was sitting on the couch with Hardison's head in her lap.

"Thanks, sweetheart," Eliot said. "I'm trying."

"You've got a real talent," Hardison said. 

"Well, I never recreated a statue or invented a whole royal diary," Eliot said. "But I do all right."

"Why this one?" Hardison asked. "You've turned down every other wedding."

"I don't know," Eliot said. "I mean, it's Pride, for one. Felt right to do something like this. And the way that they looked at each other, the fact that they've been together so long — it just touched something in me, you know? You look at them, and they're nothing like us on the surface, but they reminded me of us somehow." He strummed a few chords as he gathered his thoughts. "I hope we'll have been together for thirty-five years one day."

"Yeah, maybe by then we'll be able to get married," Hardison said.

"It's stupid," Parker said, sitting up. "Why can't we get married now?"

"Two of us could," Hardison said. "But there's a little thing called the law that says all three of us can't."

Parker snorted. "We never let 'the law' stop us before."

"She does have a point," Eliot said. 

"I mean, we could 'get married' any day we want," Hardison said. "We could call Christmas 2012 our wedding day if we wanted to. Vows were said, as far as I'm concerned. Promises were exchanged. But no court is going to see it that way. No hospital's going to accept you both as my spouses."

"That's a good point," Eliot said. "Maybe you and Parker should get married."

"Why me and Parker?" Hardison asked.

Eliot shrugged. "Because I can pass as your brother-in-law if I have to. It doesn't work quite as well the other way. I look a hell of a lot more like her brother than most people would think you do."

Parker made a face. "Gross."

"That's partly because people make a lot of racist assumptions about what a family is or isn't," Hardison grumbled. "But I see your point."

"I don't want Hardison to be my husband and you to be our boyfriend," Parker said, frowning. "That doesn't seem fair. We're all equal." 

"I didn't say it was fair," Eliot said. "I said it would be legal."

"Well, then why don't you and Hardison get married?" Parker asked. "That's basically the same thing."

Eliot sighed. "You and I both know a situation like that would be easier if they have to look at your pretty face and try to tell you no. Again, it's not fair. I'm not saying it's fair."

"That's dumb," Parker said. "It's like running into a wall in the middle of a room. There doesn't need to be a wall there."

"Yes, baby, it's very dumb," Hardison agreed. "A lot of people have been walled in like that for a lot of years."

"Would we get married, if that were an option?" Eliot asked.

"Hell yes," Hardison said. "Just imagine what that party would be like."

"I could have two husbands instead of two boyfriends," Parker said thoughtfully. "I mean, it doesn't sound as hot, but I think it would be good."

"Okay, good," Eliot said, relieved. "Just making sure we're all on the same page."

"We have rings," Hardison reminded him, pointing to the gold band on his finger. "We've said all the for-better-or-worse 'til-death-do-us-part stuff. At this point, it's just the paperwork, you know?"

"Yeah," Eliot said. He was quiet for a minute.

"What?" Hardison said. "I can hear the gears grinding over there. What's on your mind?"

"I just love you two so fucking much," Eliot said helplessly. His eyes were stinging and his heart hurt. He spread his hands. "I hate the idea that anyone could think I don't or not let me see you just because we don't have a piece of paper from the county that says we belong together. Meanwhile any straight couple off the street can just drive through some Vegas wedding chapel and get divorced six weeks later and that's somehow a legitimate relationship."

"I know," Hardison said in a soothing voice. "But that's history, right there. Think about everybody who couldn't get married because of their sexuality or their race or whatever else. I mean, Dorothy and Charlie never got the chance either."

"It sucks," Eliot said in a fierce voice, trying not to cry. God, he cried so much more these days. Maybe he was getting old. 

Hardison rolled off the couch and came over to where Eliot was sitting. He put his arms around Eliot and his chin on Eliot's shoulder. "Yeah," he said. "It sucks. But we're part of a grand tradition now of making our own definition of what love means. And we get to help other people celebrate their own relationships, and even if we can't be part of it the same way, that's something. Think how much the world has changed since they got together. Think how far we've come."

"Mostly I see how far we have to go," Eliot mumbled, leaning his head against Hardison's. "It was easier when I didn't know."

"A lot of things are easier not to know," Hardison said. 

"Like feelings," Parker said. 

"Like feelings," Hardison said. "And systematic oppression that's built into literally every single institution you can think of. All that kind of stuff. But are we better people when we confront it?"

"I am," Parker said. "Even if it's hard."

"I am," Eliot said. "You know I always tried to do right by everyone, but I didn't have this much skin in the game before."

"Skin in the game gets you bruises," Hardison agreed. "But that's how the world shifts. We'll keep working on it, you and me and Parker."

"Maybe Eliot can wear his chaps to our wedding," Parker mused.

"Eliot is not wearing chaps to anybody's wedding," Eliot growled.

"Absolutely not," Hardison agreed. "Eliot will have a tuxedo that's made to measure with pants that actually fit and shoes that you can't wade through a swamp in." He kissed Eliot's cheek. "That is non-negotiable. But you can bring the chaps for the honeymoon."

"Ooh," Parker said. "Deal."

"I don't get a say in this, huh?" Eliot said.

"Nope," Parker said. "You're outvoted. And that's marriage!" She beamed at them.

"It kind of is," Hardison said.

The day of the wedding was beautiful. They helped the staff pack up the van they'd bought for the Bridgeport for the purposes of catering and occasional undercover work and drove Eliot's truck out to the farm where Binh and Mai were getting married. The hot stuff stayed hot, the cold stuff stayed cold, and the staff they'd brought with them were more than capable. Eliot paced back and forth, nervous. He was wearing a suit, navy blue with a pink shirt, and feeling hotter every minute. He tugged at his pink-striped tie to loosen it.

"Hey," Parker said. "You're going to be great." She was wearing the dress she'd worn to Hardison's frat garden party and she looked like a dream. It made Eliot's palms sweaty and his mouth dry just to look at her. That was stupid. It wasn't like he was the one getting married. All he had to do was play a little music.

"What if all my strings snap at the same time?" Eliot asked.

Parker looked at him sideways, her expression skeptical. "I don't know a lot about guitars, but I don't think that's how that happens," she said. "And if it did, you'd just sing or something while Hardison hooked up some kind of ridiculous emergency sound system in case the regular one didn't work." She came up to him and smoothed his tie. "You got this. I'm going to go find Hardison. We'll see you at the ceremony."

"Okay," he said. "Kiss for luck?"

She smiled and shook her head. "You don't need luck. I'll kiss you after."

He nodded and she left. Eliot checked on the catering staff, but they didn't need him for anything. That made sense. They were gone pretty much half the year on jobs. They'd specifically hired people who could get things done without a lot of supervision from the big bosses. There was nothing to do but go find his seat. The farm where the wedding was was kind of a newer venue. Mai and Binh had family connections to it, he thought. It was a cool place. They'd built a new barn a few years ago and turned the old one into a place people could throw parties. He appreciated a diversified revenue stream. The barn had that rustic look people were crazy about and it still smelled like hay, but there were plenty of hookups for the catering equipment and the lighting was warm and clear. It was a space that felt like it could hold a lot of joy and music. The reception and the food would be in the old barn, but the ceremony was outside in a field that overlooked the actual working fields. They'd set up one of those open-sided tents to keep the sun off people. It looked a lot like the kind of place he might have gotten married in, if he'd followed through on the promises of his younger days. 

"It's a lot," he said to himself, just because saying the words out loud let off some of the pressure in his chest. Things he had and hadn't done. Things he could and couldn't do. "It was always going to be a lot." 

For the ceremony, there was a chair set up near the back for him, close enough to the barn that they could run an extension cord for a mic and the amplifier that plugged into his guitar. His guitar was already there, sitting in its case. He took it out and played a little, just making sure his fingers were warmed up. It was soothing to give himself over to the music. All that mattered for these moments was that his fingers moved over the strings. It wasn't life or death. All he had to do was put some pretty sounds into the world to go with people's pretty feelings.

After ten minutes or so, Hardison stuck his head out of the barn door. "Hey, I think they're letting people come in now. You ready?"

Eliot nodded and stilled the strings with his palm. "I'm ready."

Hardison smiled and came toward him. "Kiss for luck," he said, bending down and kissing Eliot briefly.

"Parker said I don't need luck," Eliot told him. 

"Kiss for love, then," Hardison said, kissing him again. Eliot caught his hand and squeezed it.

"Hey," he said. "Until my dying day." 

"Yeah," Hardison said softly. "We know."

"You look damn handsome in that suit," Eliot added.

Hardison smirked and adjusted his cuffs. "I know." 

He left and Eliot started playing again. Guests started filing in and finding seats and he watched them as his fingers moved over the strings. It wasn't a huge wedding, but everyone looked like they were happy to be there. He saw a few people he recognized from the Bridgeport and nodded if they happened to catch his eye. The officiant signaled Eliot and he paused for a second and then changed to the song Binh and Mai had decided they wanted to walk down the aisle to. Everyone quieted down as the music got louder and turned toward the barn. Mai came out first, wearing a traditional áo dài in rose pink. There were flowers in her hair and her whole face was lit up. She walked by herself, carrying her bouquet, her steps measured but her joy filling up the whole tent.

Eliot was definitely not crying about it. He definitely continued not to have any kind of tears running down his cheeks when Binh followed her, equally absolutely radiant in a deep purple dress, and he absolutely didn't cry during the ceremony when he didn't have being able to play to distract him and all he could do was listen to how much they loved each other and how rich it had made their lives to share them. A handkerchief appeared over his shoulder: Hardison and Parker, slipping out of the barn to stand behind him. He leaned back against Hardison's stomach and dabbed at his eyes. Parker put her hand on his shoulder and Eliot covered her fingers with his own. They didn't say anything. They didn't need to. 

Mai and Binh read their vows, their words profoundly tender and revealing. Eliot almost wanted to look away, like their love was too intimate to be seen at such close range, but he wasn't here for that. He was here to honor them. So he watched and listened and learned a little more about their private struggles and their private joys, and his lovers watched with him. He could feel Hardison's chest tremble as he cried too, and Parker kept taking his handkerchief and passing it back damper than it had been. And then it was over, and he was playing them out, an upbeat little tune to celebrate the shift in their lives. They were wives now, in the eyes of the law, and maybe it was just a change on a piece of paper somewhere, but it meant something. Eliot felt it in his soul. 

"Ah, shit," said Eliot when the beaming brides had gone past and the guests had filed into the barn. "Fuck me." He turned in his chair and wiped at his face with the now pretty-much-useless handkerchief. "I didn't think it would get to me like that."

"It was a lot," Hardison said in a shaky voice. "So many of us for so long called each other husband and wife and it didn't matter what anyone else said, you know? But at the same time, it matters. It doesn't make it any more real, but at the same time, yeah, it does."

"It doesn't make any sense," Parker said fiercely. "How could anyone see that and not say it was real?" She waved her hands in the air. "That's like saying art isn't real just because it's painted instead of people."

"Baby girl, I am sorry to inform you that the world doesn't make any sense," Hardison said. "That's kind of just how it is."

She scowled and crossed her arms. "It sucks. I thought learning how to feel things would be more fun, but there's all these bad feelings too."

"You just hope the good ones make up for it," Eliot told her. "Like love." He looked up at Parker and Hardison. "I just love you so fucking much." 

"Yeah," Hardison said. 

"Yeah," Parker said, her eyes crinkling up at the corners as she smiled. "I just wish it didn't hurt so much."

"Tell you what," Eliot said. "Sometimes it hurts less if you put pressure on it." He stood up and opened his arms. "Come here and see if I can wrap you up tight enough to help."

Parker stepped into his arms and laid her head on his shoulder and he held her and swayed to the music that was in his heart. 

"That better?" he whispered.

"A little," she whispered back. "Will you do it again later?"

"We both will," Eliot promised. 

They had a little time between the ceremony and the first dance, so they went to check on the catering staff and nibble at the leftovers. 

"You really have a gift, man," Hardison said, picking up a little pastry. 

"Careful," Eliot teased. "That might have shrimp in it. I'm not doing any emergency tracheotomies tonight. Definitely not letting Parker handle any knives."

"Don't worry," Hardison said, pulling a small box out of his jacket pocket. "I brought mints." 

They both grinned at each other while the catering staff shot them some looks. Parker came back in from the main area.

"They're doing speeches and toasts and stuff," she told Eliot. "I think it's pretty much almost you again."

Eliot nodded and went to get his guitar. He carried the guitar and the chair into the barn and came back for the mic. Binh and Mai had tried to get him to set up on the dance floor, where somebody's niece who was DJing would be after he was done, but he'd shaken his head. "I'm not supposed to be the center of attention," he'd reminded them. "Your first dance is all about you." So he sat in the doorway, almost out of sight, and waited for his cue. 

The speeches went on a little longer than he'd expected. A few people had some words to say that they clearly hadn't really prepared in advance, but in the moment, couldn't not share. Eliot took deep, even breaths and tried not to listen too closely. It was funny how so many love stories sounded so much the same, or at least only had the same words to use to tell them, and yet those same words meant something unique every time. His love story was the same as so many that had come before it and yet. Nobody would ever be Parker and Hardison. The map of their life couldn't be copied. 

Mai and Binh advanced to the dance floor amid a lot of clapping and that was Eliot's cue. He'd had to simplify the song a lot — the original version wasn't acoustic — but the techniques he'd learned for the other songs he'd played had helped. Slapping the strings against the frets added a little variety. Too bad he hadn't given Parker a tambourine or something. On the other hand, giving Parker a tambourine was probably a recipe for disaster. Unlike Hardison, she'd never shown a lot of interest in music. She probably would have tried to throw it at something. 

It was a sweet song. He'd heard it before, on the radio, but he hadn't really listened to it until he'd had to learn it. Binh and Mai wanted to tell the whole world that they finally got it right, and he supported that. They held each other and twirled around the dance floor and it filled Eliot's heart right up. He had to look away for a little bit to let the warmth in his heart ebb some. He'd definitely made the mistake looking at Hardison and Parker when he sang, "My whole heart will be yours forever"[🎶](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xjE5D9cHiOk) and felt all kinds of emotions swelling up inside him. But he couldn't cry again. This wasn't about him. Mai and Binh were counting on his voice to sing the words that meant something to them. So he looked away, watching the brides, and when that was too much, watching the way the light reflected off the polished body of his guitar. 

He played the last few chords and waved away the applause, standing up and clapping instead for Mai and Binh and making his escape back to the catering area. He put his guitar back in its case and knelt next to it, still taking deep breaths. He was glad he hadn't agreed to play any other weddings. He was glad he'd played this one. It wasn't much that he'd contributed to the four-decade span of their love story, but it wasn't nothing. 

"Let's go home," he murmured when Hardison and Parker found him. 

"Okay," Hardison said. "We can do that. The staff can handle the rest of this."

"Yeah," Eliot said. "They're more than capable." He patted his pockets, looking for his keys, and Hardison held them up. 

"I'll drive," he said.

Eliot nodded. He wasn't drunk — he'd had maybe two sips of the champagne getting passed around — but he was too emotional to focus on the road. They climbed into his truck and Hardison drove them home, only complaining once or twice about having to move the seat back so far. 

"I'm not a tall man," Eliot told him, leaning on Parker. She patted his head. "You knew this when we got together."

"I did have ample notice," Hardison acknowledged. "Maybe it's just surprising. You walk really tall." 

"I like it," Parker said. "I'm not the littlest one."

"Only when you're wearing heels," Eliot grumbled. "And depending on how we define 'littlest'." 

"Is this grumpy?" Parker asked Hardison. "He seems grumpy."

"He just has a feelings hangover," Hardison said, taking the exit that would take them back to the Bridgeport. "Don't worry about it."

"That can happen?" Parker asked.

"I tell you assholes that I love you and this is what I get," Eliot said. 

"Yeah," Hardison said. "This is what you get. Unflinching support and wholehearted love. That's all. No big deal."

"Sometimes I just wish I could call you my husband," Eliot said. "And Parker my wife. It doesn't seem like enough, but it's the best words I have."

Hardison hummed to himself. "You can if you want. It only has to mean something to us."

"Sometimes I want it to mean more," Eliot said. "Sometimes I want it to be real to everyone else, even though it's the realest thing in my life. Maybe because it's the realest thing in my life."

"I know, baby," Hardison said. 

"I like telling people I have 'partners'," Parker said. "Is it romantic? Is it platonic? Only I know. The mystery keeps it spicy. But maybe it would be nice if we had something less ambiguous to say to each other."

"Sometimes I want it to be clear exactly how things are." Eliot looked out the window. "There's just not an answer."

"You're the answer," Hardison said. "We're the answer." 

"Yeah," Eliot said. "And that's enough 99% of the time. But that leaves one percent."

"So here's what's going to happen," Hardison said as they pulled into the garage. He draped his arm over the wheel and turned to look at the other two. "We're going to eat something more substantial than crab puffs or whatever deliciousness that was. We're going to dig up a bottle of champagne, maybe two. We're going to get in the hot tub, and we're going to relax and enjoy each other's company and be here, with each other, in this beautiful life we've cobbled together. And if we need to cry about it, we can cry about it, or laugh about it, or get out and watch a ridiculously romantic movie, or whatever else we need to nourish our hearts and souls. That sound good?"

"That sounds great," Parker said. "Except the crying. Can we watch the _Star Wars_ with the CGI Yoda?"

Hardison shook his head slowly. "I love you," he said to Parker, "more than pretty much anything and anyone else on this earth, and this is what you do to me."

"I second that," Eliot said. "CGI Yoda. That's what I need." 

Hardison raised his eyes to the sky. "Give me strength," he whispered.

"That's what you've got me for," Eliot said. 

"And me," Parker said, flexing her arm. 

"Yeah," Hardison said, smiling at them. "I've got you."


	8. Year Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot helps Zachary and teaches fight choreography to a local teen theater troupe, a.k.a. Eliot mentors the hell out of some kids.

It was the third week of May when a guy came into the Bridgeport looking for Eliot, who was behind the bar testing some new cocktail ideas. Eliot eyed the guy as he walked up to the bar. He was definitely familiar. Not Singapore, though, or Tokyo, or Yerevan. Ah. Portland. Eliot snapped his fingers as the guy approached.

"You're one of Sophie's theater people," he said. 

"Yes," the guy said, only looking a little nervous. "Zachary. Hi."

"What can I do you for, Zack?" Eliot asked. "You want a beer? We've got a pretty nice summer wheat or a gooseberry gose. If you're not a drinker, we have a marionberry Italian soda, if you can believe that. The syrup's housemade. Or we're doing a blackberry lemonade with or without gin."

"Oh, I'm not really here for that," Zachary said. 

"You sure?" Eliot asked. "Let me know if you change your mind." 

"I'm afraid I'm not here for the restaurant side of your business," Zachary stage-whispered. "But I didn't know how to make an appointment."

"We've got a website," Eliot said, "but that's all right." He leaned on the bar. "Who's your problem with? Have you received any kind of threats?"

"Oh, no, nobody, it's not that kind of thing," Zachary said. "You know I studied theater under the great Sophie Devereaux." He made a little worshipful motion with his hands. Eliot gave him a squinty smile. "Well, now I'm running the community theater and I've been doing a summer program for high school teens who are interested in drama. We're doing a queer retelling of _Romeo and Juliet_ \- _Romeo and Julio_ , you understand - and the kids are doing a great job. Citlali wrote it herself. It resituates the conflicts between the houses as a battle between imaginary rival cartels in cities loosely based on Ciudad Juárez and El Paso and foregrounds both crossborder conflict and the murder of women and the role of the cartels and US Border Patrol in perpetuating multiple dimensions of violence. She's updated some of the dialogue and kept some of the classic lines. It's a real work of art."

"I'm not much of an actor, Zachary," Eliot said, pushing himself up from the bar. He grabbed the towel slung over his shoulder with one hand. 

"But you are, I'm given to understand, quite the fighter," Zachary said.

Eliot nodded. He couldn't help smiling to himself, just a little. "I dabble," he allowed.

Zachary clasped his hands. "We're doing great on learning the lines. We're doing great on blocking and character development. The costumes are coming along for our opening at the end of June. But Mr. Spencer -"

Eliot shook his head. "Call me Eliot."

"Eliot," Zachary said. "I don't know how to say it any other way. These kids can't fight. There's not even one among them that has studied any kind of martial art. None of the fights are believable at all."

"Uh huh," Eliot said. "I can imagine."

"I just want them to be able to justice to the text," Zachary said earnestly. "Citlali worked hard on this. The scene where Lady Tybalt kills Lady Mercutio could be so poignant and right now it's essentially slapstick. I called Sophie to ask if she knew anyone who could help and she told me to ask you."

"She still takes your calls, huh?" Eliot said. He sized Zachary up. "What's the time commitment like here, Zack? June's a busy month for us."

"Even if you could give us a few hours of your time," Zachary pleaded. "A couple of sessions with the kids. They're quick studies. Once a few of them know some tricks, they can teach the others. We usually have rehearsal every day from 10-2." 

Eliot kept his face carefully blank. "That's a lot of rehearsal." 

"They're very dedicated," Zachary assured him. "That's why it's so tragic and so important that we figure out these fight scenes. Everything else is incredible. You'd swear it was a seasoned cast off-Broadway. But they're just not violent individuals." He spread his hands. "I can't really help them. I only know the very basics of fight choreography myself. Sophie was more interested in helping us develop other aspects of our acting."

"I bet," Eliot said. He ran through his calendar in his mind. "Here's the deal, Zack. I can give you an hour a day, Monday through Friday next week. Ten to eleven. That work for you?"

"That would be amazing," Zachary breathed. He'd definitely learned those doe eyes from Sophie, if nothing else. Eliot smiled fondly to himself. He did miss them. Mostly Sophie. They'd pulled off some jobs against incredible odds together, and he still laughed about the time she'd punched Hardison on the potato job. Sophie Devereaux was a hell of a woman.

"Down at the Faded Rose?" Eliot asked. 

"Yes, in the Sophie Devereaux Auditorium," Zachary said proudly. "You can't miss it, it's the main room."

"Gotcha," Eliot said. 

"We can pay you," Zachary said. "Not very much, but I can find some room in the budget."

Eliot waved one hand in dismissal. "Tell you what, we'll call it a community service," he said. "And the Bridgeport would be happy to sponsor your production if you're looking for that kind of support." 

Zachary's eyes widened. "Oh, wow," he said, reaching out to clasp Eliot's hand with both of his and shake it. "Sophie told me you might help me, but I never imagined this." 

"Well, we're always looking for ways to give back," Eliot said, extracting his hand. "I guess I'll see you Monday."

"Do you need any special equipment?" Zachary said.

"Some mats if you have 'em," Eliot said. "Wrestling mats, gymnastic mats. If not, anything you can practice falling on. And tell the kids to wear comfortable clothes. Stretchy. Nothing too tight." He shrugged his shoulders reflexively. "Something they can move around in."

"I think I can borrow some mats from the high school," Zachary said. He fumbled in his pocket and came up with a business card. "Here's my card so you'll have my number if you need to contact me. Otherwise, I'll see you Monday morning! Thank you again."

Eliot nodded. "My pleasure, man. You sure I can't get you anything? Lemonade to go?" 

"That sounds delightful," Zachary said. Eliot scooped ice into one of their plastic cups and filled it with blackberry lemonade. He pressed the lid down tight and handed the cup and a wrapped straw to Zachary.

"Enjoy," he said. 

"Thank you again, again," Zachary said, smiling. His face was so earnest it almost made Eliot wince. The guy would be an easy mark, if he had anything worth taking. Not that that was what Eliot was thinking about. 

"You're welcome," Eliot said. "All right. See you later." 

Zachary bustled out. Eliot worked on his experimental cocktails for a few more minutes and then gave up. He'd let the bartenders test them on their friends and regulars. His brain was full of fight sequences, warmups and patterns and drills. He'd have to see what kind of fighting they wanted to do. He assumed high schoolers weren't allowed to use guns, even fake ones, which was good. That meant finding some kind of sword to practice with that wouldn't slice through wood like it was softened butter. That one mostly stayed in its display case anyway.

He was rummaging through the equipment in their home gym when Parker came in in a sports bra and leggings with a towel around her neck. "I thought you were mixing drinks," she said. 

"I was mixing drinks," Eliot told her. "But then one of Sophie's drama students came in and recruited me to teach high schoolers how to fight."

"Who, Zachary?" Parker asked. She sat down on the mat behind him, her legs crossed. 

"Yes, Zachary," Eliot grunted, pulling another useless sword out of the chest. Well, it wasn't useless, but it was useless for his purposes. "We really need to organize this stuff better."

"That's your stuff," Parker said. "My stuff is all organized." She gestured to a climbing wall and a rack of climbing rigs. "And Hardison pretty much just uses the weights and the treadmill. All the swords and nunchucks and weird special sticks and stuff are yours."

"I know that," Eliot grumbled. "It was just a general comment."

"A general comment about your stuff," Parker mused, "and yet, you said 'we' need to organize it."

"I," Eliot said, sitting back on his heels. "I need to organize my stuff better."

She gave him a sunny smile. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Get into a committed relationship, they said," he muttered. "You'll be so happy, they said. You want to call Hardison in here so he can tell me how messy I am too?" 

Parker reached forward and booped his nose with one finger. "You are so happy. And also you need to organize your stuff." 

He pretended to growl and pulled her against him. "I am extremely happy."

She kissed him. "Good. Me too." She squirmed out of his lap. "I'm going to run now. Good luck with your sticks."

"Swords," he said. "I'm looking for swords."

"What do you need a sword for?" she asked, stepping onto the treadmill. "Did you take a job without us? It's June. I thought we agreed we weren't taking jobs in June."

"I didn't take a job," he said. "I told you, I'm teaching high schoolers how to fight."

"I don't think you should give them a sword," she said. Her ponytail bounced as she ran. "That sounds like a bad idea. I don't know much about high school, but it doesn't seem like a very sword time of life, you know? Maybe you should talk to Hardison about that."

"I don't need to talk to Hardison about it," he told her. "I'm not giving them real swords. I get a sword."

"Maybe you should use one of your weird sticks instead," she said. 

"I don't have sticks. I have staves and other legitimate fighting implements." He thought about it for a second. "Might be a good idea, though. We could use it like a sword. Less chance of inadvertent injury."

"See? I'm helpful," Parker said. 

"You're very helpful," Eliot told her. He picked a short staff from the collection of stuff he'd dumped out of the trunk and looked at the pile, then shoveled it all back in. He'd organize it later. He got up and weighed the staff in his hands, trying out different grips. He moved slowly through a couple of patterns from different martial arts, trying to figure out what would be easy to teach to a bunch of kids who didn't know a right hook from a hole in the ground. It felt good, to be honest. He hadn't really had to fight his way out in the last few jobs, which was probably also good, because he could tell he was slowing down a little. One of these days he'd be out of the game for good, or at least not playing a hitter anymore. But he was Eliot Goddamn Spencer. He still had a lot of fight left in him. More than plenty to teach a bunch of kids how to put on a show.

"I heard you're distributing free swords to a bunch of high schoolers," Hardison said later, when they'd finished dinner and were hanging out on the roof watching the sun set. They were all on an oversized swing together, lounging against a bunch of pillows. The damn thing was like a bed on chains, Eliot thought, but he couldn't deny it was comfortable. 

"I'm not giving any swords to anybody," he said. "Parker."

"What?" She pouted, pretending innocence. "Just keeping everyone up to date on your activities."

"I told one of Sophie's non-thieving protégés that I'd teach his teen actors how to make a fight look real," Eliot said. "Apparently he called her and she told him to ask me."

"And when was the last time she called us?" Hardison said. "At least do us the courtesy of a heads-up." 

"That's what I thought," Eliot said. "How hard is it to pick up the phone?"

"I mean, you could call her," Parker pointed out.

There was a moment of silence.

"They're busy living their new straight lives," Hardison said. "At least, non-criminal lives."

"Anyway," Eliot said. "I'm going to spend a few hours next week teaching the cast of _Romeo and Julio_ to throw some reasonable punches. And possibly use swords. But not real ones, Parker."

"I told him high schoolers probably shouldn't use real swords," she explained to Hardison. "Is that correct high school information?"

"You did so good, baby," he assured her. "That is exactly what high schoolers should not do. One of many things."

"I knew it," she said. 

"Real swords were never on the table," Eliot insisted. 

"You should be grateful, man," Hardison said. "I don't know what you'd do without our girl here to set you straight."

Eliot sighed and kissed them, because the experience of years had taught him it was the only way to shut them up when they got on a roll like this. Fortunately, it was a highly effective solution, and soon nobody was saying anything at all. The chains of the swing creaked gently, and overhead, the stars came out.

Monday morning, Eliot was at the renovated Faded Rose with a staff and a plan. He'd see what he was dealing with today, teach them a couple of warmups, and call it good. Tomorrow they'd try falling. Wednesday, they'd learn how to fake throwing and taking a punch, and then Thursday and Friday, they'd work with whatever weapons they were allowed to have. He could do this. It was only a few hours out of his week. It wasn't that many teens. Anyway, the last ones hadn't turned out to be so bad. Rani and her friends still came into the Bridgeport sometimes, for game night or after their school functions, and they always smiled at him. Even Jack, lately, so yeah, Eliot could handle a bunch of teenagers. He wondered briefly how Molly was doing, and the kid from the mine, and the kids they'd rescued from the orphanage in Serbia, and the kid from the fancy school who couldn't fence at all. At least he'd tried to leave them better off than he'd found them.

He pulled open the door and sauntered into the lobby. The Sophie Devereaux Auditorium was, as Zachary had said, unmissable, in that it was the only way to go. The doors were open and he could see a group of teenagers sitting on the edge of the stage or in the front row seats. A couple of them were stretching on the floor. Bless their hearts. At least they looked like they'd followed instructions and worn clothes they could move in. One of the kids was in a wheelchair, but he could figure that out easily enough. There was a lot of potential for wheels to cause some damage. Low center of gravity, unexpected points of contact. Yeah, he could work with that. 

Eliot strolled down the aisle, flipping his staff in his hand. It didn't hurt to make a good first impression. Zachary caught a glimpse of him and clapped his hands to get the kids' attention.

"All right, my band of thespians!" he said. "As I told you, we're graced this week by the presence of a man who was personally recommended by my mentor, Sophie Devereaux." Eliot waited for him to do the worship gesture again and was profoundly thankful that he did not. "This is Mister Eliot Spencer. He's here to help us out with our fight choreography. We all want to do justice to the scope of Citlali's vision." He nodded to one of the teens, a slight girl with medium-brown skin and long black hair. "I think we can all acknowledge that we are much stronger at portraying love than portraying fighting." 

Eliot tried to smile at that, because it seemed to be a joke, but from the expression on the kids' faces, he hadn't quite pulled it off. Well. Better they be a little intimidated by him, he guessed. 

"Hey, kids," he said. "Uh, what was it. Thespians?" He looked at Zachary. "Feels a little weird to call them that."

"It means actors," Zachary explained in that way that managed to be so helpful it was almost condescending. 

"I know what it means," Eliot said. "Sophie Devereaux was my mentor too. Sort of. Okay, thespians. I'm Eliot. You might have seen me at the Bridgeport. It's my brewpub. I'm here, as Zack here said, to teach you how to fight." He paused. "Well. Teach you how to pretend to fight." He paced back and forth. "We've got a week to make you look good so you can live up to Citlali's, uh, vision." He gave her a little two-fingered wave. She blinked solemnly at him. "I guess we'll start with a warmup. It's very important to get your muscles limber before you do any kind of fighting moves."

He shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over one of the theater chairs, deliberately turned his back to them. It would have been a risky move in a lot of the company he'd kept, but it was a quick way to find out who the troublemakers would be. 

"He's like...like a cowboy Batman," one of the kids said in a whisper.

"I heard that," he said in the raspiest voice he could manage. "I'll have you know Batman's an excellent fighter, both in terms of sheer hand-to-hand technique and in terms of his ability to shape a fight. I personally would be honored to learn to fight from Batman." Hardison was going to be so proud of him. He turned back to face the kids. "Everybody make sure you've got room to move. We're gonna start by warming up our upper bodies." He led the kids through a series of stretches and gentle movements and tried not to wince. Uncoordinated would be a kind word for most of them. 

"Let's just...do that again," he said when they were finished, and let them through it two more times until their movements were smoother and more connected. He could tell some of them had some kind of athletic training, but not the kind that was helpful to what he was trying to teach them. There were a couple of dance kids for sure. They made everything too flowy. 

"That's fine," he said eventually. "Let's move on to lower body." He looked at the kid in the wheelchair. "I don't know what your range of motion is or what you're comfortable with, but I can have something for you tomorrow."

"It's fine," said the kid. "Since my legs don't work anymore, I usually spend fight practice working on my car."

"Okay," Eliot said, trying really hard not to make a face that would convey his confusion and apparently failing again. 

"I'm driving a car in the play," the kid explained patiently. "Instead of a nurse, Julio has a chauffeur. It's part of my costume. It fits over my chair, but it's kind of clunky."

"That makes more sense," Eliot said. 

"Yeah," the kid said. "It's hard to maneuver. So I practice." 

"Okay," Eliot said. "But you let me know if you want something else to do, all right?"

"You got it, Batman," the kid said, and wheeled off with Zachary to get his chassis put on or whatever.

Eliot growled under his breath and turned back to the rest of the kids. "Lower body," he snapped, and taught them how to do squats and lunges that wouldn't ruin their knees. At quarter to eleven, he stopped and made them stretch. A couple of the kids looked like they'd had the most intense workout of their lives. Honestly, he felt a little spark of pride in his chest about that. Nobody could say they didn't get their money's worth out of Eliot Spencer's fight school. Fake fight school. Free fake fight school.

"All right, that's the end of today's training," he told them. "Tomorrow we fall." He got quite a few big-eyed looks for that. "Tomorrow we learn to fall safely so it looks good and we don't hurt ourselves," he amended. "It's a lot more dramatic if you fall down after you take a really good fake punch." He glanced at Zachary. "We are gonna need those mats tomorrow." 

"I'm picking them up tonight," Zachary assured him. 

"Take five, everybody," Eliot told them. "Get some water. Good work today." He waved at the kid trundling his fake car across the stage. "That includes you." The kid honked an imaginary horn at him. 

Eliot turned to Zachary. "Hey, do you have some kind of roster? Maybe with pictures? I feel like I need to know their names and nametags just get awkward. There's always somebody with bad handwriting or their name's so small you just end up staring at their chest. I'd rather avoid all that."

"I have a draft of the program that has all their headshots on it," Zachary offered, fumbling in his bag. He handed Eliot a stapled booklet. "They're not professional headshots, you understand. We work with a photography class at one of the local high schools. But they're recognizable, I think." 

"I'll take it," Eliot said. He rolled it up with one hand and tapped it pensively against his other palm. 

"Do you need anything for tomorrow?" Zachary asked. "Besides the mats? I thought it went really well today." 

"I think we'll be okay," Eliot said. "They definitely tried."

Zachary glanced at the students. "Sorry I didn't mention Max."

"Max?" Eliot said.

"Max is one of our differently-abled thespians," Zachary said. "Specifically, he's the one who uses a wheelchair." 

"The chauffeur," Eliot said. "That's pretty good."

"Yes, Citlali was very proud of that, I think," Zachary said. "As he said, he doesn't really have lower-body mobility, but the others are very good at making sure they include him." 

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Kids can be all right sometimes." 

Zachary shifted so the kids couldn't see his face. "And I'll try to shut down the whole Batman thing," he said in a low voice. "They don't mean anything by it."

"It's kind of funny," Eliot told him. "Plus, when I was in high school, it was weird to call an adult by their first name, and I'm not gonna be Mister Spencer. If I have to be Batman instead, it's no skin off my nose."

"Okay," Zachary said, looking relieved. Eliot clapped him on the shoulder. He picked up his jacket and his staff.

"Tomorrow," he told, "we fall." 

Falling took three days to learn, not just because the kids were too nervous to relax into it, but because there were so many of them. They had to fall in shifts just so he could make sure they were doing it safely. He wasn't going to leave them with one day of punching and no weapons training, so one week stretched into two. He'd learned their names by then anyway, so it didn't make sense to leave yet. The bravest kids called him Eliot. The next-bravest called him Batman, mostly when they thought he couldn't hear. The rest of the kids didn't call him anything but sir. He wasn't that hard on them, he thought. Maybe it was his natural air of command. Meanwhile Max tooled around in his makeshift car, rolling himself up and down the various ramps around the auditorium, playing sounds on his phone to stand in for car horn noises. It looked a lot harder than anything Eliot was having the kids do, to be honest, but he could tell the practice was working. He brought Max a long staff and let him practice jousting.

"Sometimes a vehicle is the best weapon of all," he told Max. "We're gonna use this expertise."

Max poked at the air with the staff like it was a lance. "Yeah," he said. "I'm feeling it."

"Good," Eliot told him. He leaned in. "I think Citlali is watching us and rewriting the driver's part in her head. Keep it up."

He'd finally gotten fake swords the Wednesday of the second week, so they could stop practicing with rulers. Zachary had indeed nixed the idea of guns, which Citlali looked a little pained about. But her vision definitely hadn't included a dramatic fight scene with yardsticks, so at least the swords were an improvement. 

"Again," he called out. "Up, parry, parry, block, thrust." They moved in something that wasn't unison, but approximated togetherness. "Good enough for now."

"Hey, Batman," Romeo said, leaning on his sword. Eliot thought his real name was Gael. "Why don't you use the numbers?" 

"What numbers?" asked Eliot.

Gael gestured with his sword. "The book has numbers for the different sword positions."

Eliot scowled. "What book?"

Gael went to the seats for his backpack and rummaged around in it. He held up a notebook. "We took notes."

"Fighting's not something you can learn from a book," Eliot growled. 

"Yeah, well, that's not what Zachary said," Gael retorted. "We definitely had a book." 

Eliot bit his tongue. "Fine," he said. "Show me the numbers." 

"Hey, Anna, help me out," Gael said to one of the other kids. 

"Why did you ask him about the numbers when you don't ever remember the numbers," she whispered furiously at him, but got up and held her sword in various positions as he called them out in bad Italian. 

"What's wrong with parry?" Eliot asked. 

"Prima, seconda, terza, and quarta designate different positions for the parry," Anna explained. 

"I usually just parry in whatever position they're trying to hit me," Eliot said. 

"Zachary said that when you're doing stage choreography, you have to be really precise," Anna said. "That way, everybody knows what's coming and nobody gets hurt."

"I've got, like, pages of definitions for all these terms," Gael added. "I guess stage choreography isn't exactly like real fighting, huh? Maybe we all learned something today."

Eliot bared his teeth in a grin and reminded himself he liked these kids, even the little shits. "Thank you, Anna," he said. "Now that you know the movements, maybe you should call the fights."

"Uh, okay," she said. 

"Why don't you just come up here," he said, crooking his arm to invite her to the front of the group. "Good. Now show them what they're going to do. We're still working on a basic defense sequence."

She nodded, and after a moment, moved into a pattern that was pretty much what he'd taught them, but went with the numbers Gael had given. It only took a couple of runthroughs for everyone to get it. The kids did seem to know the numbers, because when Anna called them, most of them did it right. By the end Anna was walking through the group, correcting people's form, and Eliot had a lieutenant. He nodded at her.

"Good work today, Anna," he said. "You made them work for it." 

"Thank you," she said. "I appreciate your willingness to use our vocabulary for it."

He shook his head. Kids really did say the darndest things. "No problem. Tomorrow we'll work on attacks. Then we can put them together and add some falls."

"I'll be ready," she said, smiling brightly. "Um, to help them learn the attacks. Not to attack people." 

"You'll do great," he assured her. She almost skipped away to put her sword on the rack, her ponytail bouncing. Eliot smiled. She wasn't Parker, wasn't really anything like Parker in looks or attitude, but there was something there that was the same in them somewhere. Something shiny. 

"They're good kids," he told Hardison and Parker when he got back to the brewery. Hardison was getting things ready for game night, checking all the board games for missing pieces and making sure the controllers had batteries. Parker was rolling the glittery pink dice Jane had gotten her for Christmas. 

"Glad you're having fun," Hardison said. "Eliot Spencer's Junior Fight Club. I'd pay to see that."

"You can," Eliot said. "The play's at the end of June. I already got us tickets."

"Fun," Parker said. "Do I get to stab anyone?"

"Nobody gets to stab anybody, Parker, that's kind of the point of what I've been doing for the past week and a half," Eliot growled.

"Oh yeah," she said. "No-Stabbing Wednesday. I forgot." She rattled all her dice between her hands and threw them across the table. "Ooh, natural 18."

"You're a natural 20 to me, baby," Hardison said, and kissed her cheek. She laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. They'd all changed a lot, Eliot reflected. Parker still didn't initiate touching most of the time, but she'd gotten so much more comfortable with it. She was clear about when she did and didn't want to participate. She'd worked on accepting and expressing her own feelings and understanding the ones she hadn't quite experienced yet. Eliot, who hadn't really been sure if he could sustain any kind of romantic connection longer than a few nights and hadn't been interested in trying anymore, had now been with the same people for almost nine years with no signs of flagging. Hardison had always been the most evolved of them and even he had mellowed. The job wasn't the most important thing to any of them anymore. It was this, this precious thing they'd built out of patience and love and sex and time. 

Eliot took a deep breath. It was June. He always got emotional in June. When he looked up, Parker and Hardison were studying him. 

"You okay?" Hardison asked.

"Yeah," Eliot said with a smile. "I just love the shit out of you. Pass some of those over here and I'll help you check them."

Game night the next night was less crowded than it usually was. Jane was out of town for work, so her usual crowd of dungeoneers was taking a break. Eliot kind of hoped that was code for an orgy, but it wasn't like he and Parker had been invited, which, yeah, there were still some conversations they hadn't had, huh. On the other hand, they hadn't been invited to any orgies, so it was kind of a moot point. Somebody else from another group was running a one-shot, but Eliot wasn't ready to put himself into another story, so he was making the rounds instead, checking in on everybody, making sure all the food and drinks were satisfactory. He'd really tried to up their mocktail game over the last few years. Part of it was the younger crowd that game night especially attracted, and part of it was Nate. Options probably wouldn't have stopped him, Eliot thought, but for all the people who were like Nate but actually wanted out of the bottle, he could provide. 

The door opened and Eliot looked up from behind the bar. It was Max and Gael and Anna and Citlali and a bunch of the other kids from Zachary's drama group. Max looked around, saw Eliot, and pointed at him dramatically.

"Batman!" he called. "I challenge you to video games!" He let his arm drop. "Also that would have been a lot better if you had saloon doors on this place. You should consider it."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna do that," Eliot said. "Saloon doors, I mean. Video games I'll do." He watched Max wheel himself through the dining room to the couches Hardison had set up for gaming. They could make a few changes to table placement to improve accessibility. He jotted down a couple of notes on the back of an extra receipt someone had left on the bar. He nodded to one of the servers - Ari, whose rainbow Bridgeport shirt had a nonbinary patch and one with green stripes that he'd learned meant somebody was aromantic. Nine years of queer theory and he was still learning. "Can you get these kids? Apparently I've got to play video games."

"Yeah, boss, I'm there," they said. 

"Hurry up," Max said. "Unless you're scared."

"I ain't scared of you," Eliot told him, leaving his towel on the bar. "What's your poison?"

"What do you think?" Max said. "MarioKart."

"Uh," Eliot said. He carefully did not look at Max's wheelchair.

"I know," Max said. "The kid in the wheelchair kills at MarioKart. I get it. But it was the only game my parents would actually buy for me when I was little. I think they were trying to get me used to the idea that one day my actual life would be on wheels."

Eliot shrugged. "It kinda makes sense."

"I guess," Max said. "Except that being in a wheelchair is approximately 2% like MarioKart, even the one with the motor. Nice try, parents. But now I'm the undisputed MarioKart king of the Pacific Northwest, so I guess it worked out." 

Eliot sat down on the couch and picked up the controller. "Big talk, little man. Let's go."

Max absolutely smoked him on every single track. Eliot was okay at video games, but Max was something else. 

"Had enough, Batman?" Max crowed after his fifth straight victory.

"One more," Eliot insisted. He hunkered down, elbows braced on his knees. 

"Yo, you are looking really scary right now," Gael said. He was leaning on the back of the couch next to Max. "You're not just quiet, you're, like, the opposite of sound. If I dropped a quarter in you, it would not make a noise. Batman, are you okay? Batman, blink twice for yes."

Eliot held his eyes open for the rest of the lap, not even blinking when Gael waved his hand in front of Eliot's face. It was kind of funny how cocky they were, strolling into his brewpub to challenge him. But they were drama kids, so he guessed they were used to putting on a show. That was all right. So was he.

When he got hit by a shell and spun across the finish line in fifth place, Eliot tossed the controller down. "I give up, man," he said. "You're the undisputed champion of MarioKart."

"Told you," Max smirked. 

"Who's next?" Eliot said. "You all came up here to beat up an old man, so who's next?"

"Ah, sweet, you have Black Ops?" Gael said. "It is time to let the Batman know where he stands."

"Batman?" Hardison said, coming over as they shifted couches to sit in front of the other tv that was set up with a console. "Is Batman at my game night and I didn't know?"

"I'm Batman," Eliot growled.

Hardison's eyebrows shot up. "Well, this is a development." He passed Eliot a controller. "Who else?"

Gael nodded at him along with a kid Eliot didn't know as well called Levi and so did Citlali, to Eliot's surprise. She saw him looking at her.

"I like video games," she said defensively. "My parents thought it was just my brothers, but I'm the best one in my house."

"That's fine," Eliot said. "I just thought you were, I don't know, more focused on writing plays."

"I contain multitudes," she said, and as the game launched, started kicking his ass. 

Of course, part of that was because Eliot wouldn't use a gun. 

"It's called a First Person Shooter, not a First Person Mister Punchy Man," Hardison told him, putting his arms around Eliot from behind and trying to access his inventory to equip a gun.

"I know what I'm doing!" Eliot insisted. "I don't like guns."

Citlali was cackling, her little body just shaking with laughter, and yet she still took his character down again. She had steady hands, Eliot thought. If the arts didn't work out as a career, she had potential for their other line of work. 

"You have to use the guns," Hardison said. He had his cheek pressed to Eliot's, trying to take the controller away. Eliot saw the kids all glancing at them out of the corner of his eye. "You can't even play this game if you're not using the guns." 

Yeah, he thought, keep looking. If he felt like pretending to wrestle his own boyfriend in his own bar during Pride month, by God he was going to do it. He braced his arms against Hardison's efforts. Hardison was strong, but he wasn't trying that hard, and anyway, Eliot was still stronger.

"This is not real life, man," Hardison hissed in his ear. "You can't punch your way to victory. It's not how the game works. You know what, just give me this. Give me this. Let go!" 

Eliot let him take the controller. Hardison leaned on the back of the couch next to him, pushing buttons and muttering under his breath. Eliot let his shoulder rest against Hardison's arm. In a matter of minutes, Hardison had pretty much dominated the kids, who gave up one by one and drifted across the room to try the various board games, order food, or lose to Max at MarioKart. 

"Not bad," Eliot said when they were alone. "How does it feel to smoke a bunch of teenagers?"

"I wasn't the one pretending to actually kick their asses," Hardison said, climbing over the back of the couch and sitting next to Eliot. "They seem to like you, though."

"They call me Batman," Eliot said with a scowl.

"I'm pretty sure that's a sign of affection," Hardison said. "Despite the fact that DC sucks." 

"DC sucks!" Levi said as he walked past. "Let Batman be bi!"

"Exactly," Hardison said, turning and hooking his arm over the back of the couch. "That's what I'm saying. Where's the representation?"

Levi nodded. "The man has all this homoerotic sexual tension with the Joker, Scarecrow, Bane...just let Batman be bi." 

"Up top, little man," Hardison said, giving Levi a high five, which wasn't really that high since he was sitting and Levi was standing. Eliot just watched. It seemed like maybe there were levels to this conversation he wasn't getting, or maybe he was putting in too many levels just because the kids had called him Batman.

"That's why we go for Marvel in this establishment," Hardison said. "They're not quite there yet, but at least they're making more of an effort. DC's got what, Harley and Ivy, and some references to Constantine's dating adventures, and don't get me wrong, I'm into it, but when Wolverine fell in love with a guy?" He made the chef's kiss gesture. "To go there with someone that tied into the ideals of masculinity and to not have it compromise him or make him less badass in any way, that was great."

"Yeah, and _Young Avengers_ ," Levi said. And _Runaways_. Like half those characters are queer. To have a character named Miss America and she's bisexual and has two moms? And she's Latinx? Well, okay, she's not technically Latinx because she's from another dimension, but she looks Latinx. And Prodigy? He's like the smartest guy alive and he's black and queer. And queer Muslim rep in _Ms Marvel_? And Deadpool!" 

Hardison turned to Eliot. "He," he said, jerking his thumb at Levi, "gets it. He gets it. That's all there is to say." 

"Yeah, definitely," Eliot said. "Wolverine. That's the guy." He pushed himself up off the couch. "I'm gonna get something to drink. You want anything?"

"I'll come with you," Hardison said. "Scared off all my competition anyway." He pointed at Levi again. "You get it. Enjoy your night."

Parker was behind the bar, mixing up something. She'd started trying to mix drinks lately, and boozy or not, they were usually more of an assault on the senses than an epicurean experience. Eliot was always trying to convince her that less was more, but it was definitely a process. She'd learned to enjoy food, so now she wanted to put everything she enjoyed into one dish or one cocktail. She saw them coming and put two glasses on the counter. 

"We're gonna drink it, right," Hardison murmured.

"We have to," Eliot told him under his breath.

"My boys!" she said, smiling at them. "You're in for a treat. Pull up a chair."

They sat down on the stools in front of her. Eliot pushed his foot against Hardison's on the rail. It was a little gesture, but it made him feel warm inside. Parker filled the glasses with ice and poured her mixture into them. It was a little cloudy and flecked with green. She added a slice of lime to each glass, thought about it, and then dropped in a cherry. "Drink up!" she said.

They each reached for a glass, exchanging a look. Hardison touched his glass to Eliot's. Parker leaned way over the bar, watching them. She had to be up on her toes to get so close, Eliot though. He reached out and hooked his pinky through hers and took a drink. He held the liquid in his mouth for a moment: lime, the sting of vodka, a hint of basil, and the plush richness of the Luxardo cherry. He'd definitely had worse drinks.

"Pretty good," he said. "Very drinkable."

"You've reinvented the cherry limeade," Hardison said. "It's an accomplishment."

"Yeah, I was going to say you didn't need the cherry, but you kind of did," Eliot said, taking another sip. "It elevates it. Good work, Parker. This might be your best one yet."

"I tried to take your advice and keep it simple," she said, beaming. "I was thinking about a painting I...borrowed once. There were just blocks of color, but it was so nice somehow. I wanted to do that."

"That's what I got from it," Hardison said. "How about you, Eliot?"

"Oh, yeah," Eliot said. "Like a Rothko or something. Definitely."

Someone cleared their throat behind them. Eliot and Hardison turned around. Gael the theater kid jerked his chin at them in greeting. "Hey, Batman. You know how to fight for real, right?"

"I might," Eliot said. "What's it to you."

"I just know a couple of kids who are getting bullied," Gael said. "Obviously not me because I'm very cool and popular, but...some kids." He looked down a little. Eliot had some idea of the kind of kids he meant. "So I gotta throw up the bat signal. Maybe some of these fake moves you've taught us will scare them off, but maybe we need some real moves."

"Uh huh," Eliot said. "Just a couple of you, huh?"

Gael shrugged. "It never hurts to be prepared, right?"

"You want me to teach you how to actually hit each other?" Eliot asked. He pinched his lower lip between his fingers. "I don't think Zachary's gonna be into that."

Gael shrugged again. Eliot hadn't been so eloquent at that age either. "If it's a few of us at a time, the rest of us can run lines or whatever. I don't think those punches look real yet, you know?"

"Some kind of liability issues there," Hardison said under his breath. He gave Eliot a look that said "I know your dumb ass is going to do this anyway, but please be smart about it". Eliot got that look a lot.

"You kids sign some kind of waiver to do the theater stuff, right?" Eliot said. Hardison was right. Eliot couldn't get sued. They'd avoided the law up to this point, but there were still risks they shouldn't take. It wasn't just about him: it was all three of them, and the entire life they'd built for themselves in the last decade, Leverage International and the Bridgeport, things that mattered to them and to the people around them. 

"I think so," Gael said, looking dubious. "There was, like, a permission slip."

"Just a couple of moves," Eliot said to Hardison. "Less than I taught Sophie." 

"As I recall, Sophie was a pretty quick study," Hardison said, rubbing his jaw. 

"You wanna fight?" Parker said to Gael, sizing him up with her eyes. 

"I don't want to fight _you_ ," he said. 

"Good call," Parker said, giving him an intimidating look. "I'm tougher than both these guys. Put together."

"She is," Hardison said. "Little but fierce, just like that quotation."

"I can't run some kind of teenage fight club," Eliot told Gael. "I feel like your families didn't agree to that." He really fucking hoped it wasn't their families that were the problem.

Gael nodded. "I get it. No such thing as real vigilante justice. It's cool. Just thought I'd ask."

Eliot wondered where Gael's bruises had been and who he'd gotten them from. He felt that fire inside him, the one that wanted to burn down anybody who'd hurt these kids. These vulnerable, open, incredible kids who were so much braver than he'd been at their age, for all his swaggering. He'd probably contributed to some of the hurt that the kids like Gael at his high school had felt. There wasn't much point to being older and wiser if he didn't use that wisdom for good, but this wasn't a job. He didn't have the same leeway he had elsewhere to bust heads and change minds. But here was a kid, standing in front of him, needing his help and risking some part of himself to ask.

"I can show a few of you some 'advanced stage choreography'," Eliot said. "No more than that. Romeo and Julio and Tybalt and Mercutio. Nobody else has a good enough excuse. But it's up to you to practice it, okay?"

"This is gonna be some _Karate Kid_ nonsense, isn't it?" Hardison asked. "You have got to stop adopting all these wayward teens."

"Shut up," Eliot said out of the side of his mouth. "One week only, all right?"

"One week." Gael held out his hand. "Shake on it."

Eliot did. He clasped Gael's hand tight. "I better have your word on this you will only use what I teach you for self-defense or protecting somebody less able to defend themselves than you are. Got it?"

"Got it." Gael's gaze was cool and level. "I assume if you hear otherwise, you'll kick my ass."

"Nah," Eliot said, letting go and sitting back. He pointed at Parker. "I'll let her kick your ass."

Parker grinned a wicked grin. 

"Like I'm gonna cross Batman," Gael said. "Or his girlfriend." 

"Good instincts, kid," Hardison said. "You don't want none of that." He gestured at Parker, the movement of his hand encompassing all of her. "She's ten pounds of unpredictable in a five pound bag."

"I mean, Batman's boyfriend already kicked my ass tonight," Gael said, watching them, his expression daring them to deny it.

"That's right," Hardison said easily. "Don't you forget it. There's only one king of the geeks in this house and he's sitting right here."

Eliot shrugged. "We all have our specialties."

Gael checked his phone. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow, Batman." 

"Ten a.m. sharp," Eliot said. "You tell the others. Bring water. It's not gonna be easy."

"Life's not easy," Gael said, a faraway glint in his eyes. 

"Fair enough," Eliot said. 

"Not fair at all, actually, but it do be that way sometimes," Gael said. 

Eliot just nodded. Sometimes there just wasn't a way to respond to the way the kids used words. It was like they were using a passphrase and he didn't have the right reply.

"Bye," Gael said. He rounded up his castmates and glanced back at Eliot one last time as they went out the doors. 

"Baby, I keep telling you," Hardison said when the drama teens were gone. "You can't just adopt every sad-eyed youth you come across." 

"I don't adopt all of 'em," Eliot said, sipping at his limeade. 

"Name one you haven't adopted," Hardison said.

Eliot had to think about it. "Sterling's kid," he said finally.

"Olivia," Parker said. "That was a fun job."

"I thought you hated that job," Hardison said. "The weights. The boots. You kept saying the laptop was yelling at you."

"Yeah, but we got to dance," she said, giving him a dreamy look. "In a skyscraper in Dubai. That was pretty romantic. And then I got to jump off a really tall building. And we prevented nuclear war. That's pretty good." 

"How come I never get to dance on a job?" Eliot asked. "Didn't get to dance in Dubai. Didn't get to go to fake prom." 

"I bet you went to your actual prom, though," Hardison said.

"Hell yeah, I did," Eliot said. "I was the starting quarterback on my high school football team in Oklahoma. Do you even know what that means?"

"No," Parker said. 

"I was Homecoming King," Eliot said smugly. "That means I basically ruled the school. I did anything I wanted. I got any girl I wanted." 

"What that means is he didn't need to dance at a fake prom," Hardison said. "He did the real thing."

"Doesn't mean I don't need a little romance now," Eliot said. "I didn't hit some lifetime cap. None of that was really what you'd call romantic anyway." 

"Loved 'em and left 'em, huh?" Hardison said.

"That seems rude," Parker told him.

"Mostly just left 'em," Eliot said. "I was getting out of there. Didn't say it was right, but that's the way it was. I don't think they had any kind of illusions about it. They got what they wanted. I got what I wanted. It was a fair trade."

"That sounds a little sad," Parker said. 

"It's not how I feel about you," Eliot said. "That's not what I want from you."

"Be a hell of a long con if it were," Hardison told him.

"Can't a man even express that he wants to dance with the people he loves without being mocked for it?" Eliot asked. 

"You could dance with us any time," Parker said.

"Maybe I want to dance with you on company time," Eliot said. "Taking time for that kind of thing while we're on a job...it's kind of romantic."

"I thought you were a get-in, get-out kind of guy when it came to the work," Hardison said. He put on what he clearly thought was a country accent. "Parker, Hardison, stop being so unprofessional."

"Maybe I've changed," Eliot said. "Maybe once in a while a moment is important enough to create, even on a job."

"Maybe we've all changed," Parker said thoughtfully. "I'm a mixologist now. That's a change."

"That's right, baby," Hardison said. "You definitely are. And Eliot's a theater teacher."

Eliot drained his limeade. "Something like that."

The four kids in his fight club picked up the moves pretty fast. They worked hard and didn't complain, and on the couple of occasions somebody did take a punch wrong, there was stage makeup to cover the bruises. He felt bad about that, but nobody learned to fight without taking some kind of hit. At least these were voluntary. Every day when he left, he saw them whispering to the others. Several of them came to game night that week. Jane was back with tales to tell, so Eliot didn't spend much time with them, but it was kind of nice to see that they enjoyed the Bridgeport. By the end of the third week, their fake fights were about a hundred times better than they'd been when he'd started, and they'd all learned that a real punch came from the hips and the legs, not from the shoulder. 

"I can't thank you enough," Zachary said on the last day, his voice almost trembling with emotion. "I asked you for one week and you stayed for three out of the goodness of your heart. You have given us a gift, Mister Spencer." He clapped at the kids in that way people did when they wanted everyone else to follow along. They applauded obediently enough. Eliot wasn't sure who started the chant, but it didn't take long until it sounded like all of them were saying it. 

"Batman! Batman! Batman! Batman!"

He waved at them dismissively. "Glad to help out." 

"We love you, Batman!" one of the kids shouted. 

"We never could have brought such life to Citlali's words without your help," Zachary said. "Thanks to you, we've been able to give the fight scenes the texture and emotion they needed. Please accept this gift." He held out a bag with tissue paper and a ribbon on it. 

Eliot took it and held it. "Uh, thanks."

"Open it," Zachary urged. 

Eliot weighed it in his hands. There was some kind of little statuette inside. This was definitely going to be more embarrassing than it was enjoyable. He reached into the bag and pulled it out. Over the stage, a screen came down. Eliot looked at the statuette. 

"The Sophie Devereaux Award For Helping Hands," he read off the plaque on the base. "Eliot Spencer." 

The projector blinked on and suddenly there was a 12-foot Sophie staring out at him from the screen and a 12-inch Sophie on the laptop at the edge of the stage. "Hello," Sophie said warmly. "Am I speaking to the latest recipient of the Sophie Devereaux Award for Helping Hands?"

"You have that honor," Eliot said, walking over to the laptop.

"As a staunch supporter of the Faded Rose, I'm delighted to present you with this token of appreciation for your admirable service in the cause of community theater. We absolutely could not do what we do without people like you." She gave him that warm look he'd seen so often during a job, always directed at other people. But this one was for him, and it was real. He could tell by the way the corners of her eyes crinkled up. She didn't always let the marks see that.

Goddammit, he missed her. Nate too, but Sophie had always been the one who let them know she cared. 

"I present you with my appreciation of your appreciation," he said. 

"Zachary has informed me that you volunteered your time," Sophie went on. "Fifteen hours over three weeks. I'm very certain your time is valuable and I'd like to thank you personally for investing in our little program." 

"It was my pleasure," he said. "You've got a great group here. Great leadership." 

"Thank you," she said softly. 

"Hope whatever you're doing now is as rewarding as this was," he said, gesturing at the kids. "You know, they're putting on a hell of a performance in a couple of weeks, pardon my French. Groundbreaking stuff. You could always come back. Opening night in the Sophie Devereaux Auditorium."

"I'll consider it," she said. He nodded. That was enough. He couldn't say more in front of Zachary and the kids. He'd probably already said too much. 

"Thank you," he said, turning from Sophie to the kids. "For the award. For the opportunity. I learned a lot."

"Batman!" Max cheered, and the teens picked up the chant again.

"Are they calling you Batman?" Sophie asked. Eliot reached behind himself and closed the laptop. 

"It's been fun," he told everyone. It was weird to look at their faces and think he wouldn't see them much, now that this was over. It had been weird to see Sophie too. Good, but weird. The whole situation made him feel off balance, emotionally. He'd given these kids something, a gift that would last some of them the rest of their lives. "Thanks. And, uh, you're always welcome at the Bridgeport." He left before he could catch anybody's eye. That would have been too much. He didn't have time to get soggy about teaching a bunch of kids to pretend to throw a punch. He had a business to run. 

The next day was the Pride parade, and he was too busy with the brewpub to think much about the play or the kids until the day before the play opened. He wasn't even at game night - they had a catering job and he went along to supervise. But he called the theater the day before the play opened and made sure he had three tickets.

"It's date night," he told Hardison and Parker. "Non-negotiable. We're going to the theater."

"Are we dressing up?" Parker asked.

"Yes," Eliot decided. 

"Oooh yay," she said. "Leather?"

"Not leather," Eliot said firmly. "Not like when he took us to _Rocky Horror_. More business, less party. Pretend you work in an office or something."

Parker heaved a sigh. "Fine."

"I like any excuse to wear a nice suit," Hardison said.

"I like any excuse to see you in one," Eliot told him. "Even better if I get to take you out of it. But that's phase two of date night. Phase one is the play."

They looked damn good when they walked out the door, if Eliot did say so himself. All three of them were in suits. He thought Parker's was her FBI getup, but Hardison was wearing the navy suit he'd worn to Mai and Binh's wedding, and he'd paired it with a gold paisley ascot that made his skin glow. 

They picked up the tickets at the door. "Oh, Mister Spencer," said the college kid running the box office. "I have something here for you." 

"For me?" Eliot frowned. "More than tickets?"

"Yeah, hold on, it's around here somewhere." The kid dug around on the desk and came up with a paper grocery bag. "Here you go." She looked at the hole in the window. "Just kidding. I'll give it to you when you come in."

They went in and the kid was waiting with the bag. Eliot took it with a nod of thanks. Hardison and Parker were looking at the auditorium.

"The Sophie Devereaux Auditorium," Hardison said. He smiled, looking up at the letters. He had his hands in his pockets. Parker put her arm through his.

"It's nice," she said. 

"It's very nice," said a voice behind them, and they turned to see Sophie, Nate at her shoulder.

"Sophie," Eliot said, going to her and wrapping her up in his arms, and then they were all hugging and laughing and crying.

"I couldn't miss opening night," she said. "Not when I was so politely invited."

"Nate," Hardison said, clapping him on the back. "How's life treating you?"

Nate reached into his pocket and held up a bronze medallion. "Three years," he said. "Two months, six days, five hours. I didn't even have to steal it. Toughest job I ever did."

"The personal ones are always hard," Hardison said. 

Parker beamed at Sophie. "You look like a princess," she said.

"Parker," Sophie said warmly. "You know I'm not a princess."

"Yeah, whatever, your graciousness," Parker said, rolling her eyes. She took Sophie's hands. "You look really pretty. I missed you." 

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Sophie said, hugging her. 

Eliot could feel himself getting misty-eyed. He reached into the paper bag to distract himself and pulled out a Batman mask. He chuckled in surprise, the kind of laugh that came before tears. "Goddammit, kids," he said affectionately.

"Wow," Hardison said, "and I mean wow." He took the mask and turned it over in his hands. "They weren't kidding about the Batman thing, huh."

"Cowboy Batman," Eliot said. "That's what they called me the first day. Can you believe it?"

"Yes," Hardison said, sincerity heavy in his voice. "Yes, I can."

"Anything else in there?" Parker pawed through it. "Just looks like a bunch of envelopes."

"I'll look at them later," Eliot said. If he had to read anything even remotely resembling a thank-you note from any of those kids, he really was going to cry. He tucked the mask back into the bag, careful not to bend any of the cards. "Play's about to start. "Let's go find our seats."

They didn't sit all in a row. Sophie and Nate sat in front and the three of them sat behind them, perfectly staggered to lean forward and talk about everything they'd been up to for the last few years, or at least everything that was safe to talk about. For the fifteen minutes before the lights came down and the curtain went up, they did just that. It wasn't like they never talked, Eliot reminded himself. They usually called Sophie or Sophie called them at least once a month. But it had been a while, and there had been too many jobs and not enough time. There was never enough time. It was the one thing they couldn't steal. Eliot felt like they'd snagged a few hours, though, behind the back of whoever was keeping track of the clock. Some days were rough and some days were miracles. He knew enough to understand when he was inside a moment of grace.

The play was good. Surprisingly good. Citlali really did have vision and she'd made a timeless story modern. _Romeo and Julio_ didn't flinch away from showing any of the tough realities these kids dealt with, or at least kids like them dealt with, and it still found a way to show the sweetness of first love without taking the easy way out on any of it. The characters felt real. The fights looked right. When Max crashed his wheelchair car into the customs station to distract the Border Patrol agents, it looked like the whole stage shook. Eliot was proud of the kids. He leaned forward, watching raptly, as Romeo and Julio declared their love. 

"I like this," Parker whispered to him. "Needs more explosions, though." 

Hardison just held his hand across Parker's lap. 

At the end of the play, Eliot was one of the first to stand up. It was a bunch of kids. Of course they were getting a standing ovation. They were related to half the people in the audience if not more. But he wanted to show he meant it.

They waited for the cast in the lobby and gave out high fives like candy. The kids were giddy, drunk on their success. They shrieked when they saw Eliot and Hardison and Parker and Sophie and it took them half an hour to untangle themselves. Sophie signed at least six programs, smiling graciously. They went out for dinner after, all five of them, like old times. Nobody ordered any drinks, even after Nate told them it was fine.

"Tasted too many of the new beers," Hardison said, putting his hand on his stomach. "Couldn't possibly." 

They talked about everything, in the oblique way they had to talk about the things they did. They talked about nothing. Nate and Sophie were choosing new paint for their flat, or maybe they'd do an accent wall. Sophie had found this really beautiful wallpaper. Nate was enjoying his time as a man of leisure and had taken up darts because golf made his fingers too itchy.

"Maybe you need new gloves," Parker suggested.

"Metaphorically itchy," Nate corrected himself. "Parker, you know when you see someone really rich and really rude, and you just want to take their stuff? And your fingers just kind of twitch?"

"Oh yeah," she said, her eyes lighting up. "Ah, that kind of itchy. New gloves probably wouldn't help."

"Darts, now," Nate said, leaning forward. "Darts is a game of the people."

Sophie groaned and put her hand on his arm. "Don't let him get started about the egalitarian qualities of the game of darts."

Dinner was over too soon. It wasn't like they could spent enough hours together to catch up on the years they'd spent apart. But it was nice all the same, to stand outside the restaurant and know they were all in good places, even if those places were different.

"We'll have to do this again sometime," Nate said. "Maybe you could come to London."

"Come for Christmas," Sophie said. "It's lovely at Christmas. I mean, not the weather, but the feeling of the city. We can even go out to my family's place in the country. You'll love it."

"Will it snow?" Parker asked.

"If it doesn't, I'll take you somewhere with lots of snow," Sophie promised, taking her hands. 

"Okay," Parker said, and when she smiled, her whole face shone. 

"Keep up the good work, man," Eliot said to Nate. 

"I will," Nate promised. "You too."

"Oh, we'll hold it down on this end," Hardison said. "Leverage International has quite the rep. Plus the brewpub is up for some kind of award this year."

Sophie stepped back and Nate put his arm around her. She looked at the three of them fondly. "I'm so glad you have each other."

Eliot slid one arm around Hardison's waist and one arm around Parker's. "Yeah. Me too."

"Don't be strangers," she told them, and then they stepped into the car and were gone. A stopover in LA, they'd said, on their way to a beach vacation on some island Sophie had bought years ago off the coast of Mexico or something. Eliot hadn't really been listening to that part. He'd been thinking about how much they needed a vacation themselves, and about Parker and Hardison lying on a beach in the sun wearing swimsuits. 

"Ready to go home?" Hardison asked.

"Yeah," Eliot said. He let his hands slip from their waists, maybe grabbing a little feel on the way, and picked up his paper bag. "Let's go home."

Back in the apartment, he changed out of his suit and into pajamas. He poured himself a beer and read the cards one by one. They were all sweet, even the one that just said "Na na na na na na na na, na na na na na na na na" on the outside and "BATMAN!!!!" on the inside. The last one was a Heartfelt card. He smiled at that. It said "Thanks!" on the front with a picture of a dinosaur. At least it wasn't one of Parker's designs. He opened it. The message was long, covering both sides of the interior and half the back of the card, the handwriting smudgy but legible.

"Dear Mr. Eliot,  
I've known I was different for a long time. I tried sports. I tried art. I played video games. I joined the band. I got into theater. None of it explained why I still felt strange inside. Maybe I was just dumb, but I couldn't figure it out. Sometimes you can't see the forest for the trees, right?  
Then you came to teach us to fight. I'm sure we weren't the easiest to teach. I know we can be brats sometimes. I feel like being a teenager means never knowing whether you're a kid or an adult. But you treated us with respect. You took us seriously. I appreciate that.  
The first night we all came to the Bridgeport for game night, I saw you with your partners and it was like one of those scenes in a movie when you see a big glass mirror get hit and shattered and then the film runs back and it all goes back together. That was me. I was shattered and put back together and suddenly I could see myself. I realized I'd always known I'm not just attracted to girls. I just hadn't let myself know it. All the stuff I'd done had been to run away from that. You helped me see it head-on. You helped me see myself.  
This is probably a weird letter to get and I swear I'm not trying to be weird or gross about you and your partners. It's not like that. I just wanted to say thanks for teaching me to fight and all the rest of it. I know I probably wasn't your favorite student, but you were my favorite teacher. Thanks for helping me understand who I was, even if you weren't trying to. You were just being you, I guess, but you let us see the real you, and that mattered. I don't know if I can talk to my family about this yet, but at least I can write this to you. Just knowing that there are grownups out there living and working and being successful and being honest with themselves and each other means a lot to me. I've got a lot to learn, but I think I know now how to keep learning on my own.  
I hope I see you around sometimes. I want to keep coming to game night after the play is over. It's nice to know that there are other people out there like me. I can hang out with the ones my age and hear about all the cool stuff that people are doing with their lives. When I see college students and adults having jobs and families and hobbies, it's like my future opens up into a million possibilities when I could only see one before. Maybe one day I'll even beat Mr. Alec at Black Ops (haha jk).  
Your student,  
Levi (Apothecary a.k.a. Pharmacy Tech)"

"Eliot," Hardison said, tapping him on the arm. "Wait, are you crying?"

"No!" Eliot said, dashing tears from his eyes and wiping his face on his sleeve. "Maybe." He handed Hardison the card. Hardison read it, his eyes skimming over the message.

"Oh, baby," he said. "You really did it, huh? You mentored the hell out of some kids."

"Shut up," Eliot said. 

Hardison leaned down and wrapped his arms around Eliot from behind. He rested his chin on Eliot's shoulder. "I'm so proud of you," he murmured into Eliot's ear. "You know that, right?"

"I know," Eliot said. He sniffled. 

"Come on," Hardison said. He rocked Eliot against his chest a few times and let him go. "We're going to the roof. Parker's convinced we're going to see a shooting star."

"There's no meteor showers this time of year," Eliot said, rubbing his eyes on his sleeve again. "Plus with all the light pollution from the city, we'll be lucky to see an airplane."

"That's what I told her," Hardison said, "but you know how Parker is. Hell, I'm not convinced she can't just will a bunch of meteors into existence, you know? She's like the embodiment of magical realism. The universe can't tell that girl no."

"Yeah," Eliot said. He pushed himself up off the couch. "But we can't either."

"That's true," Hardison agreed, "but we don't really want to."

"Hey," Eliot said. "You showed me my truth. You and Parker, but especially you. I only saw one future too, and it wasn't necessarily a pretty one."

"I seem to recall a few pretty ones along the way," Hardison teased. "Nurse Gail. That fake nun. Oh, the guitar girl. A couple of others. Maybe a couple of dozen others."

Eliot smiled nostalgically. "Yeah. That was fun, but I was never making a future. I was just putting off the inevitable, which was most likely an abrupt and permanent retirement. Now I'm making something last."

"And all because you saw me and you couldn't live without me," Hardison said. He took Eliot's hands and dragged him gently towards the elevator. 

"Is that how it happened?" Eliot asked, making a face. "I don't recall that being exactly how it happened."

"That's the origin story," Hardison told him. "You. Me. Parker. Rooftop. Boom, lightning bolt."

"I thought that's how you got superpowers, not how you had a gay epiphany," Eliot said.

"Gay epiphanies are superpowers," Hardison said. 

"Guess I can't argue with that," Eliot said. 

"Not if you want superpowers," Hardison agreed, pressing the button for the roof.

"Anyway, that's not when it happened," Eliot said. "It was digging up your grave. I swear to you my heart stopped and broke and healed all in the same moment."

"Took you long enough to say anything," Hardison teased. 

"Yeah, well, we've been over all of that," Eliot said. "I think I've made up for it by now."

"You have," Hardison said, leaning against him. The elevator opened and they stepped out onto the roof. Parker was waiting for them, her face turned to the sky. 

"I think I can see forever," she said, gazing up at the stars visible through the patchy clouds.

Eliot looked between her and Hardison. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the Batman stuff comes from something I heard about the commentaries where people call Christian Kane "cowboy Batman" because of the way he makes his voice all raspy and low. I know it's silly :)
> 
> Max has [Becker muscular dystrophy](https://www.betterhealth.vic.gov.au/health/conditionsandtreatments/muscular-dystrophy), but it got to his legs a little faster than the average. 
> 
> Thanks to coffeesuperhero for teaching me some about [stage fighting choreography](https://www.safd.org/media/1845/safd-glossary-of-terms-3-19-16.pdf). I, unlike Anna, do not know the numbers.


	9. Year Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot gets in drag for charity.

Eliot was playing in his usual game of Dungeons and Dragons with Parker and Jane and Jane's friends, most of whom were his friends at this point. It was a little strange that he enjoyed the game, but it had made him think about situations differently, even if they were fictional. He'd felt, before Leverage, before he'd gotten together with Hardison and Parker, like his life was just a series of scenes without a lot of story. Now he'd learned to connect the dots and create some kind of continuity. He knew Parker had learned a lot of strategy from it too, and a lot of social skills. She was so good at reading people now and he was proud of her every time she solved a problem without stabbing anybody, even fictionally. 

They'd been talking about Pride, about politics, about the thousand little victories and injuries the community had sustained over the past year. There were always marks on both sides. Three steps forward, two steps back.

"Hey, Eliot Copface," Jane said. "Game Night profits go to queer youth, right?"

Eliot nodded. "Hardison's big on that. Homeless kids, foster kids, any kids in crisis."

"What would you say if I hit you with a fundraiser for queer veterans?" Jane propped her chin in her hand, leaning around her DM screen. "Seems like your kind of thing."

"That is potentially my kind of thing," Eliot said.

"What's the catch?" Parker asked, leaning into Jane's space and mirroring her pose. "There's always a catch, right?"

Jane winked at her. "All negotiations go through you, huh?"

Parker smiled. "I am kind of his boss."

"She kind of is," Eliot confirmed. 

Jane raised an eyebrow. "Professionally or personally?"

"Depends," Parker said. "What do you want him for?"

"An extremely loaded question," Jane said, looking amused. "I kind of thought our dear Copface here would have something in mind that he'd been mulling over for five years."

"Bingo," suggested Micah. "Everybody loves bingo."

"Drag bingo," Zadie added, bundling her braids into a hair tie.

"Strip bingo?" suggested Ella, one of the newer players. 

"Just strip?" Jane said. "I'm sure some people would make it rain. Not me. I'm not into that."

Eliot scowled at her. "I don't strip for money."

"Well, first of all, that raises the question of what you do strip for, and second," she turned to Parker, "hey, boss, can I be invited to the next stripping meeting? Provided Alec strips. I'm not in it for this guy."

"Submit your most current résumé and I'll add you to the pool of applicants," Parker teased.

"Drag brunch," Eliot said.

"You already do a drag brunch," Jane said.

"Not one where I'm the one in drag," Eliot told her.

Every single person at the table stared at him.

"You can't do makeup," Parker said. "You tried to do eyeliner that one time and it was all smudgy."

"That was intentional," Eliot said.

"Smudgy guyliner." Zadie clicked her tongue. "I remember that stage. Thank god I upgraded. Sometimes I see pictures and I feel so sorry for that poor child. They didn't even know what was happening."

"Well, at least the best was yet to come," Jane said, patting her hand. 

"Definitely," Zadie said. "Blue skies from now on. No more raccoon eyes, no more pretending I'm a guy." 

"I looked good," Eliot protested. "It was for a thing and I looked good."

Zadie looked at him and tilted her head. "Aww, honey," she said sympathetically. "I bet you didn't."

"He kind of did," Parker said. Everyone looked at her skeptically. She put up her hands defensively. "I said kind of!" 

"I'll ask somebody else to do it," Eliot said. "Surely there's somebody out there who could put me in drag for money."

"I think it's got potential," Zadie said.

"I think a lot of people would pay good money to see this big ol' butch turned into a pretty princess," Micah said. "Like, a lot of people. You're basically Portland's most rugged hunk."

"That's not even close to true," Eliot said uncomfortably. 

Micah shrugged. "You don't have to believe it for it to be true."

"I can't wait to see Alec's face when he hears your idea." Jane smirked. "He's going to have fifty expressions in two seconds."

"I'm not going to tell him," Eliot said. "It'll be a surprise."

Jane's eyes widened. "Even better." She glared around the table. "This goes no further."

Micah mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. Ella and Lucas just nodded. "Fine," Zadie said, "but only because it will be way funnier and Janie won't kiss me anymore if I don't agree."

"I would," Jane said. "But grudgingly. Because you're very hot."

"Thank you," Zadie said gravely. 

"Way hotter than Eliot in guyliner," Jane added.

"Unnecessary," Eliot mumbled. 

"You're going to be a pretty girl," Parker said. "I hope. I think."

Eliot shook his head. "Ten years together, Parker," he said. "Thanks for having so much faith in me."

"You've been together for ten years? That's disgusting," Jane said cheerfully. "Stop monopolizing these delightful individuals and give someone else a turn."

"What they do is up to them," Eliot said. "Can't help if they'd rather be with me." He sat back, slinging his arm over the back of the chair.

"Ugh." Jane rolled her eyes. "I really can't deal with your smug fucking copface sometimes. Shut up and roll initiative. I'm going to beat the hell out of you with a manticore."

It wasn't hard to find a drag queen. Their drag brunch had been running for years at that point, and though queens had come and gone, they were easy enough to get in touch with. Eliot called the one from the first drag brunch, the one who had said he was filet mignon.

"What can I do for you, Eliot from the Bridgeport?" the queen had said. Out of drag, his voice was different. His real name was Brian, Eliot had learned. It didn't have quite the flair that Lady D Licious did.

Eliot ran his hand through his hair, even though Brian couldn't see him. "I was thinking about putting together a fundraiser for queer veterans."

"Uh huh," Brian drawled. It sounded like he was smoking on the other end of the line. 

"I thought that might be up your alley," Eliot said. He'd seen Brian out of drag a couple of times at the brewpub and he'd had a very distinctive way of holding his shoulders back. ROTC, at least. There were worse ways to pay for college.

There was a loaded pause. "It might be." 

"I thought maybe a drag show," Eliot said. 

"It's been done before," Brian said. "Moderately popular. I don't know if you'll make real money for anybody, but it's a start. It's no LifeCycle, but it's a lot easier to coordinate, especially since you already have an existing event. Please don't tell me you're going to serve MREs at lunch. I'm never doing that again."

Eliot drew in a breath. "I thought maybe you could put me in drag."

"Well," said Brian. "That's a horse of a different color. You really should have lead with that. Now you're going to make money."

"So you'll do it? I'm happy to compensate you for your work," Eliot said.

"Name the time and the place," Brian said. "I'll take a hundred and fifty percent of my usual fee. It would be two hundred, but this is a good cause."

"I look forward to it," Eliot said. "I was thinking the Sunday after the parade."

"Perfect," Brian said. "And just to be clear - the works, right? Full face, hair, cinched, tucked, dressed, all of it."

"Uh, sure," Eliot said.

"How do you feel about shaving?" Brian asked.

"My face?" Eliot rubbed his stubble. "That's fine, I guess."

"Your legs and pits, honey," Brian said. Eliot could hear the pity in his voice for the poor dumb layman. "Maybe your chest too. Maybe your back. I don't know what your situation is."

"I'll think about it," Eliot said. "I didn't really consider that as a requirement."

"I know a good waxer if that's your hangup," Brian suggested. "And it's not me. It will hurt like hell, though."

Eliot laughed. "That kind of pain's not a problem," he said. 

"I'm sure it wouldn't be for a big boy like you," Brian said, sounding amused. "I'm hanging up now and figuring out an ensemble that will show off all your attributes and all my skills. Oh, and you're going to need at least three songs you can lip sync to. After that the tips usually kind of fall off."

"Thanks," Eliot said. "If you could just kind of keep it under your hat, that'd be great. I want it to be a surprise."

"I'll just tell people they'll want to bring a lot of ones and that there will be a big surprise," Brian said. "Otherwise they won't have enough cash." 

Eliot nodded, even though the queen couldn't see him. "That's a good point."

"Of course it is," Brian said, and hung up.

\+ + + + 

Parker pounced on him later. "So what are you going to do?" she asked. "Disney princess? Rich socialite? Cute ingenue? Should we call Sophie and get her advice?"

"We are not calling Sophie," he growled. "Whatever happens, happens. I'm just the canvas. That's the extent of my involvement."

Parker frowned. "That's boring. At least choose who you want to be. It's like an identity for a job." She tapped her lip. "Lady D is dressing you up, right? She's kind of funny. Like in _The Bird Cage_. Campy." 

Eliot shrugged. "I don't think that's me."

"I think you'll make a very sexy lady," Parker said, kissing his cheek. "Whatever kind of lady you become."

Eliot sighed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Parker said. "It's not easy, you know? There's so many different kinds of women to be. Even I have to practice sometimes." 

"Oh fuck," Eliot said. "They're going to make me walk in heels."

Parker smiled. "Just go for something really chunky," she said. "You can do it." She took his hand. "You can do anything. I've seen you."

"That's you, Parker," he said. "You're the one who does it all. You and Hardison."

"I think there's enough special to go around," she said. "I wouldn't be me without you."

"None of us would," he said. "What do you think I should wear?"

She pursed her lips. "Maybe that nurse outfit you and Hardison tried to convince me to wear. White stockings, one of those little dresses." She smirked at him. "It's only fair."

"Hmm, maybe," he said, edging away from her. 

"Ooh, or like a catsuit," she said, making her hands into claws. "Like a sexy catsuit. Or a slinky velvet dress. Or a little flouncy dress and we could put your hair in pigtails."

"I think I'm wearing a wig," he said.

"Even better," she said. She tilted her head and looked at him. "Hey. I'm proud of you."

"For what?" he asked.

"A few years ago, you would have freaked out about this," she said. "I don't know how you feel about it, but it seems like a good change."

"It turns out that a few years ago, I was kind of stupid," Eliot said. "And a few years before that, I'm sure I was even dumber."

"Yeah," Parker said softly. "Me too. I guess that's life. You just hope you get to keep getting less stupid."

"You were never as stupid as me," Eliot assured her.

"Maybe," Parker said. "Maybe we just all feel that way about our own kind of stupid." 

"Nah," Eliot said. "You always had a lot of things figured out."

She smiled. "Not my heart. I was strong in a different way when I was alone, but I wasn't stronger, even if it felt that way at first." 

"Huh." Eliot rubbed his chin.

"Sometimes you don't know what you can do until you do it," Parker said. "You and Hardison taught me that. It was true about the work. It was true about this too."

"I felt like I would lose something if anybody saw me like that," Eliot said. "I don't know what. My masculinity, maybe." He laughed to himself. "Like that's worth a damn."

"I thought maybe I would die if I had feelings about anything or anyone," Parker offered. "I get it." 

"Yeah," Eliot said. "I've just always had all this pressure on me to be a certain kind of man. From my parents. From my town. From myself."

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think I'm the kind of woman people expect me to be either," Parker said. "I don't think anyone's just what other people think they are." 

"I told you you were never stupid," Eliot said, smiling at her. 

She bumped her shoulder against his. "Ask me again in five years. We'll see how much less stupid I am."

"Yeah," he said, "when Leverage International has taken over the world, thanks to our extremely sexy mastermind/thief/grifter."

"And our extremely sexy hacker/thief/mastermind/grifter," she said. "And our extremely sexy hitter/grifter/thief."

"You can talk to my knees and lower back about that," he said. "You might need another hitter five years from now." He stretched, listening to his bones crackle.

"I'll start looking," she said. "That Eliot Spencer, though. He's one of a kind. Irreplaceable."

"I hope so," Eliot said, putting his arm around her. 

\+ + + +

"Special guest?" Hardison said when Eliot made him rework the advertisement for the Pride weekend drag brunch. "What special guest?"

"I'm bringing in someone from out of town," Eliot said. "It's a secret."

"It's a secret from me," Hardison said skeptically. "Your business partner and life partner." He raised one eyebrow at Eliot.

"Hey," Eliot said, raising his hands palm out, "if there's anything I learned from years of spy shit, it's that you can't tell anyone if you don't know anything." He walked backwards out of the room.

"That's not comforting!" Hardison called after him. "If I'm going to be vaguely threatened with torture about special guests, maybe we don't need special guests. Eliot? Eliot!"

"Just put it on the damn flyer!" Eliot called back. "I love you!"

\+ + + + 

Getting put into drag took a long damn time. Eliot had thought it would take maybe an hour, but Brian demanded he be in the event room the drag queens used to get ready three hours in advance.

"Three hours?" Eliot had said. 

"Minimum," Brian had told him. "First of all, it's not like you don't live there, so the commute is short. Second, I bet you didn't bother to go book a waxing appointment at the salon and I'm going to have a lot of work to do."

"Fine," Eliot had said. "Just three hours seems like a long time to get some makeup put on."

Brian had sighed. "You sweet summer child. You have no idea the work that goes into a piece of art like Lady D."

"I think I'm older than you are," Eliot had said.

"Not in drag years," Brian had snapped. "Three hours."

"Yes, sir," Eliot had said. 

Two hours in, he was sweating through the three pairs of pantyhose Brian had made him put on. His dick felt like a permanent wedgie, shoved up and secured by his tightest underwear. "I don't even have the patience to make sure you've got a real tuck," Brian had declared. "We're just going to use a lot of duck tape and hope for the best." 

He had foam pads stuffed down the pantyhose. His face was so closely shaven that his skin stung. His eyebrows were glued to his forehead. He had what felt like spackle all over his face. And the worst part was that Parker was there, and she could see all of it happening, and they wouldn't even let him look in a mirror.

"Oh, yes," she said at one point, clasping her hands like she was praying. "Yes, definitely."

"Glad you like my work," Brian said, jabbing something else into Eliot's eyeball or maybe his soul. Brian was mostly Lady D by that point, but somehow the in-between stages of drag makeup made all the queens look like a bunch of haunted fucking dolls somebody had forgotten to finish. "I think he's going to be a masterpiece, given what I had to work with."

"Doll, are you here with him?" one of the other queens asked Parker. 

"He's my boyfriend," Parker said proudly.

"Today he's gonna be your girlfriend, baby," the queen said. She cocked her hip and put her hand on her waist. "Tell you what, while all of this finishes cooking" - she gestured at her half-done face with her free hand - "why don't I make a man out of you?"

"You can do that?" Parker asked.

"Drag kings exist too," the queen said. "Come on. You might not be the main event, but you can still have a little fun." They dragged Parker away. Eliot was alone, staring up at Brian, trying not to get jabbed in the eye with any kind of brushes. 

"Hold still," Brian hissed.

"Man, I'm trying," Eliot said. "I can't help my instincts."

"Learn," Brian said. "So we know you didn't wax and you didn't practice tucking. I'm guessing you didn't practice walking in heels either?"

"I think that would kinda give away the secret," Eliot said. "I don't have an excuse to just put on heels."

Brian smirked. "You don't need an excuse to put on heels." Eliot imagined Sophie nodding in agreement. "Do you have a name for your drag persona?"

"Uh," Eliot said. "I tried thinking about it, but I couldn't come up with much."

"Something," Brian said. "Anything. Give me anything. Close the left, please." He dabbed glue on fake lashes and pressed them deftly against Eliot's eyelid.

"Uh, I was trying to go for a kind of military theme," Eliot said. "So maybe Cammie Flage?" 

"No daughter of mine," muttered Brian, "is going to prance out on stage with a name like Cammie Flage. Listen to that. First of all, it's stupid. Second, it sounds like you're hiding. That's not what drag is about."

"Hiding is not what drag is about," Eliot repeated, his voice heavy with skepticism.

"Right eye," Brian said. 

"I definitely don't feel like I'm hiding at all," Eliot said sarcastically. "Mask made of makeup. Armor made out of padding. Oh yeah. This is me, folks."

"A lot of people make that mistake," Brian said, sounding calmer than he had in hours. "But sometimes putting on a costume shows a side of us we can't reveal otherwise. Drag is about owning the fiercely beautiful, fiercely independent, gorgeous feminine energy inside all of us, no matter what our gender is or isn't. Tell _me_ you haven't been hiding that particular light under a bushel your entire life." He dusted a brush over Eliot's nose. "I know you. I was you." 

"If you say so," Eliot said.

"Trust me," Brian told him. "You go out on that red carpet and you will feel a freedom you never imagined. After the terror wears off, of course."

"Naturally," Eliot said.

"Lady X Quisite," Brian said. "That's a good drag name. Everyone will know you're my daughter."

"I don't plan on doing this more than once," Eliot said.

"Just in case," Brian told him. "Now, before the clothes - do you want your cleavage painted?" He reached over to the table and picked up a jiggly beige mass of something that resolved itself in front of Eliot's eyes into a pair of large false breasts. "Or are you the kind of man who likes tig ole biddies?"

"Those," Eliot said immediately.

Brian smirked. "I thought so." He helped Eliot put the breasts over his head and adjust them. "Time to get dressed, Lady X."

Eliot gestured toward the mirror. "Don't I get to see myself?"

"Not until you're all done," Brian said. "Hurry up, I still have to finish beating my own face and squeezing myself into my dress."

"Goddamn," Eliot said when the corset was on. He took shallow breaths, his chest heaving. His false tits heaved too in a way that kind of distracted him. "You do this all the time?"

"It's a living," Brian said, holding out the dress for Eliot to step into. "Come on, Lady X. After this, it's just boots and hair. I took pity on you and didn't give you stilettos so you won't embarrass me."

The navy dress had a ruffly skirt that came halfway down Eliot's nylon-armored thigh on the left, all the way to the knee on the right, and swooped to the floor in the back. It fit snugly over his corset. There were two rows of big gold buttons down the front that gave it a vaguely military feel. He sat down and let Brian help him put on the thigh high boots that apparently went with it. The wig squeezed his head and the tumbling blond curls made his face itch. Brian slapped at his hands. 

"Do not touch anything above the waist," he told Eliot. "I worked too damn hard on this transformation." He took Eliot's shoulders. "Are you ready to see yourself, so you can spend the rest of the time staring into the mirror while I get ready?"

"Guess I have to be," Eliot said.

Brian turned him around and Eliot's jaw fell open. His lips were red. His eyes were someone else's eyes, huge and fringed with layers of lashes. His eyebrows had a knowing arch. Brian had accented his cheekbones and softened his jaw. A beauty mark drew attention from the scar above his lip. He looked like somebody else. He looked like a woman he might have tried to pick up at a bar, when he was still picking up women at bars.

"Holy fucking shit," he said. "Is that me?"

"That's Lady X," Brian said with satisfaction. "And she's all you. Now shut up and let me get ready."

Eliot couldn't stop looking at himself. It wasn't Eliot Spencer in the mirror, and yet he caught glimpses of himself. Somebody came up behind his shoulder, a slight guy with dark hair and a lot of stubble, and it took him longer than it should to realize it was Parker.

"Goddammit, Parker," he said. 

"I don't know who 'Parker' is but she sounds hot," she said in a deep voice. "My name is Dusty Boots."

"Of course it is," he said. "Let me look at you."

She lifted her chin and posed for him, flexing a little. She was wearing tight jeans and a white button up, but it looked like she'd borrowed his vest and cinched it to fit, and someone had given her a cowboy hat. She put it on over the messy brown wig and nodded at him. "Ma'am."

"Outstanding," he said.

She took his hand. "You look amazing," she told him.

"Yeah?" he said. "You developing a thing for ladies?"

"I think I always had a thing for ladies," she said thoughtfully. "It's just hard to tell since I don't really think that way about anybody most of the time. So, just, like, a person here and there interests me and some of them are ladies."

"That's good information to have," Eliot told her.

"Mostly I have a thing for you," she said. "And Hardison, duh, but he's not a pretty girl right now." 

"Lady X Quisite," Eliot said, trying to curtsey in the boots.

"Whoa, Lady X, careful," Parker said, catching his elbow. "Let's get you walking." 

Eliot practiced strutting up and down the length of the room for the next half hour or so, until Parker was satisfied. Brian had vanished behind the face of Lady D. The rest of the queens were putting on finishing touches. 

"You ready, Lady X?" Lady D said. "Know all the words to your songs?"

"My head hurts, I can't breathe without my tits bumping my chin, my feet hurt, and I can't feel my dick," Eliot said. "Also I think I might throw up."

"You're ready!" Lady D announced, nudging him toward the door that would take them to the dining room.

"What happened to your dick?" Parker asked.

"Don't ask," Eliot growled.

Lady D elbowed him. "Not very ladylike, Lady X. Remember your manners. Do not bring shame upon me."

"I'm gonna pass out," Eliot said to Parker. 

"No, you're not," she said. "It's just a job. It's just another character for another job and you've done a hundred jobs. A thousand jobs. Just one more tool in your box."

"Okay," Eliot said. He stood behind the curtain draped across the door.

"Breathe in," Parker said. "Breathe out." She put her hand on his back. It felt warm through the satin. "You can do this. For the veterans."

"Yeah," Eliot said, straightening his shoulders and letting his hips loosen. "For the veterans." 

Out in the dining room, they heard Lady D take the mic. "Ladies and gentlefolk, for the first time on the Bridgeport drag stage, please put your hands together for our very own Miss Oklahoma 1999, Lady X Quisite!" Someone drew aside the curtain and Lady D flung her arm toward Eliot. Eliot walked as slinkily as he could in the big chunky heels, making his way slowly down the length of the carpet they'd rolled out in the middle of the room. 

Everybody lost their minds. That was all he could perceive. Lady D handed him the mic. 

"How y'all doin'?" Eliot asked in his best womanly voice. "I'm Lady X Quisite and at today's drag brunch, we're raising money for a cause very near and dear to my heart." He tapped the fake tits, still surprised by the way they bounced. "Seeing as it's Pride, I thought we'd open our wallets today for queer veterans, our siblings who have devoted their lives to protecting our nation."

Lady D took the mic back. "Yes, 100% of the profits from today's drag brunch are going to support our siblings in uniform! And honey, we love a uniform. Lady X has a few songs to perform for you and I want you to show her all the love she gets from you when she's working the other side of the bar."

Eliot looked around the room and finally saw Hardison. Hardison had his hand over his mouth and his eyes were huge. Eliot batted his eyes at him. Hardison mouthed, "I love you" and traced a heart in the air with his fingers. 

"Lady X!" Lady D said. "The stage is yours."

All three of the songs Eliot had chosen were old favorites. He knew every word, had crooned along in the car, had watched the women who originally sang them shake their hips and let the words pour out of them. He just did what they did. He let the music fill him up and move his body. He pretended he was Sophie on a grift. He pretended he was Dolly begging Jolene not to take her man. He thought of every woman he'd ever flirted with and he borrowed all their techniques. He moved around the room, trailing his fingers over people's shoulders, tipping people's chins up, pretending to sit on people's laps. Every time he wobbled on the heels, he turned it into a twirl. He _was_ every woman. He was Lady X Quisite. People stuffed money into his hands and his dress and dollar bills rained down on him. And it was amazing.

Three songs wore him the fuck out, even though he wasn't really singing. He struck one last post as Lady D told the crowd, "Give it up for Lady X Quisite!" and then went back to the dressing room. His hands were shaking. He couldn't feel his toes. He collapsed into a chair and tried to catch his breath.

"Hell of a rush, isn't it?" said one of the other drag queens.

"I don't know how you do this all the time," Eliot panted. 

"I could say the same about your line of work," the drag queen said. 

"I mean, I guess so," Eliot hedged, panicking for a moment.

The drag queen looked sympathetic. "Owning a restaurant seems so stressful."

"Oh, yeah," Eliot said. "It's, uh, it's a lot."

"You'll want to get a few pictures after the show before you take the makeup off," the drag queen told him. "Trust me on that one."

"Thanks," Eliot said.

When the individual songs were over, he went back out into the dining room, walking around with a basket for people to put donations in. People kept asking him for pictures. He pouted his way through a dozen selfies and signed a couple of people's napkins, making up a signature for Lady X that changed every time. Slowly, he made his way over to the bar where Hardison was standing with Parker.

"I see you've met Dusty Boots," he said. 

"Yes, I have," Hardison said, "and I have informed Dusty Boots that if I weren't already into men, I would be now." He gave Eliot a lingering onceover. "Look at you. Mmhmm." 

"You like what you see?" Eliot asked, putting one hand on his hip. He held out the other hand. "Lady X Quisite. Nice to meet you." 

Hardison kissed his knuckles. "Special guest, huh," he said. 

Eliot gestured at his outfit. "It doesn't get more special than this."

"You're not wrong," Hardison said. He nodded at the room. "People are just waving dollar bills at you. Go take them before Parker goes feral."

"I'm fine," she said, though her eyes were on the cash. "I'm good. And my name, sir, is Dusty. Dusty Boots."

"Yes it is," Hardison said.

It took twenty minutes to get the makeup off and Eliot was still a little smudgy around the eyes, but that wasn't nearly as long as it had taken to get into it. Lady D put all the money they'd collected in a bank bag.

"I'll have a check for you day after tomorrow," Eliot said. "Get everything squared away."

"Hey," Lady D said. She put her hand on Eliot's shoulder. "I'm proud of you. You represented the Lady name more than adequately."

"That means a lot." Eliot put his hand over Lady D's. 

"Call me if you ever want to play with my tits again," Lady D said, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and wheeling away.

"You know what, that's a great line," Eliot said to no one. He went back out into the dining room. Parker and Hardison were at a table with Jane. Parker had taken off the wig and suit jacket smeared away some of her stubble, but she still had the hat on. It was a pretty good look. 

"I'm starving," Eliot said, pulling up an empty chair. 

"Good news," Hardison said. "This is a restaurant. Food's pretty good too."

"Shut up," Eliot said, flagging down a server. "Bring me the crab cakes, would you? And a beer - the summer wheat. Not the fruity one."

"You got it," the server said. "And hey, I didn't know you could dance like that."

"Thanks," Eliot said. "Nobody did." 

"Alec, I hate that I kind of want to make out with your boyfriend," Jane said.

"I knew it!" said Parker. "I knew it," she repeated quietly. 

"I get it," Hardison said. "Every day is a trial." 

"You're just on the right side of being overserved, aren't you?" Eliot said. "Sober Jane would never admit that."

"He just looks like he'd make such a good fucking lesbian," Jane said mournfully. "The hair. The flannels. The worst possible taste in pants."

"I'm right here," Eliot said. 

Jane turned to him and put her hands on his cheeks. "If only it weren't for your dumb fucking cop face." She patted his cheeks to emphasize each word.

"What about me?" Parker asked. 

"I think," Jane said, taking one hand off Eliot's face, "that I have made it very clear over the years that I will make out with you any time you say the word, Mister Boots."

"That's what I thought," Parker said. She nodded. "I will consider it."

"Any time you want to come to one of my parties," Jane said, "you just let me know." She cupped her hand around her mouth. "They're very sexy parties."

"Jane, Jane, Jane," Eliot said, leaning back as his beer arrived. "Even Parker understood that."

"I did." Parker nodded. "Thank you for the invitation."

"You," Jane said to Eliot, "are not invited."

"Got it," Eliot said. "Because of my face."

"And your attitude," Jane said. "Although the drag queen thing was a pretty boss move. You're a lot smaller dick than you used to be." She concentrated, frowning. "Nope. A lot less of a dick."

"Thank you," Eliot said. 

"Yeah," Parker said. "We're going to call you a friend." She held out her hand. "Can I borrow your phone, Jane?"

"I forgot to eat breakfast," Jane said miserably, putting her head on the table. "I got distracted by drag queens." 

Parker patted her head. "It's okay. We're gonna have someone come get you." She put the phone to her ear. "Heyyy, Zadie. Can you do me a favor? Jane got a little tipsy at brunch and I think she's ready to go home and sleep it off. If I call you a car, will you come and pick her up? You will? Thanks a million." She checked the address on Jane's rideshare app and called a car from her own phone. 

"Thank you, Parker," Jane mumbled into the tablecloth. 

Parker put Jane's phone back in her pocket. "No problem. Sometimes we all get in over our heads and our friends have to come to our rescue." 

Eliot's food came and he ate it without speaking and drained his beer. He was sweaty and exhausted, and now that he wasn't starving, all he wanted was to wash the last of the makeup off wherever it had trickled while he was dancing.

"I'm gonna hit the shower," he said. 

"We're going to order dessert," Parker said.

"You heard the boots," Hardison said.

It was a long, luxurious shower. Eliot got out and wrapped a towel around himself as Parker came in. 

"Washing my face," she said, gesturing at her chin. 

"Go for it," he said. "But I gotta say, Dusty Boots was a hell of a cute fella."

She smiled at him. "Thanks." 

Hardison was sitting on the bed. "You did a job out there on that dance floor today," he said. 

"Oh yeah, you liked that?" Eliot padded toward his closet. "Didn't know Lady X Quisite was your kind of girl."

"You're my kind of anything," Hardison told him, lounging back on his elbows. 

Parker came out of the bathroom, tendrils of hair curling damply around her fresh face. She threw herself on the bed next to Hardison.

"Eliot," she said.

"Ma'am." He flipped through his shirts.

"Come here." 

He turned to her and raised his eyebrows. "Yes, ma'am."

Parker kissed them, one after the other, her hands urgent in the fabric of Hardison's shirt and at the hem of Eliot's towel.

"I want you," she said, sounding surprised and a little dizzy. "Please."

"Anything," they promised her. 

She undressed them like it was the first time, her eyes wide and her breathing coming fast. She told them to touch each other and to touch her. She was bold, her mouth and hands laying claim to them. She set the pace. She called the shots. And by God, there was a reason she was their mastermind. Eliot saw colors he'd never known existed.

After, they lay together in the rumpled sheets, all bare skin and heavy breathing. Eliot ran his hand slowly over Parker's back as she curled up against Hardison's chest.

"You feeling okay?" Hardison asked Parker.

She beamed. "Never better." 

"You don't usually start things," Hardison said. "Don't get me wrong, I liked it."

"I don't know," she said. "I just felt like it. It was a new experience for me."

"I know we haven't talked about it for a while and this might not be the moment for this conversation," Eliot said, "but I don't want to think we haven't made time for you, Parker." He played with her hair. 

"Made time for me to what?" she asked, her lips against Hardison's skin. 

Eliot kissed her shoulder. "I remember you telling me about asexuality a while ago. Is that your word? I mean, in general?"

"I don't know," Parker said. "I like having sex with you two. I don't usually want to start it, but I like it when it happens." She stroked their faces. "You make me feel good and you make me feel loved. It's nice."

"But?" Hardison asked, kissing her palm.

"But I don't know," Parker said. "I don't think I have that hunger in me that you have. Every once in a while, maybe, but usually not."

"Just let us know," Eliot said. "What you want to do. What you want to be called."

"I've got a few more words you can try on if you want," Hardison said. "Greysexual. Demisexual."

"I don't think I need a word," Parker told them. "You can say that, if it makes you feel right. I saw how it was for Eliot when he was picking his word. It was like it was part of your soul. I don't feel like that about it." 

"You're Parker," Hardison said. "That's what matters."

"I hope so," she said. "I'm sorry, I guess. It would make it easier if you had a word for me. I just feel like Monday I'm one part of me, Tuesday I'm another. Today I'm something else. It's more confusing to try to keep updating my idea of myself than to just be myself. Maybe one day it'll make sense to me."

"You're Parker," Eliot repeated. "That's all I need you to be."

She smiled at him. "I need you too. Both of you."

"I think it was Eliot in drag," Hardison said. "Just overwhelmed all your senses. Everyone in that bar got flung into another dimension."

"Maybe it was me being in drag," Parker said. "I got to be somebody else for a while. Somebody who feels some of the things you feel. Maybe."

"Roleplay is a thing we can make happen," Hardison assured her. "Just say the word."

"Anyway," Parker said. "This was fun. It's always fun, whatever we do." She yawned. "I'm glad it's you. Both of you."

Eliot pulled the comforter up over the three of them. "Me too," he murmured into the nape of her neck. 

"Me three," Hardison said, and held them both tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you wanted to see Eliot's dress and boots, [here they are](https://queenofdrag.com/fr/products/violet-drag-queen-ruffle-dress?variant=16134350831662). No way that slab of beef was walking in stilettos. Apologies to any drag queens whose names I might have inadvertently stolen or maligned.


	10. Year Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queer prom and a wedding of sorts.

The new flyer that Hardison slid across the coffee table in early April said "A decade of Pride at the Bridgeport!" Eliot stared at it.

"That can't be right," he said. 

"Yeah, that doesn't sound right," Parker said. "That's a long time."

"This is year ten," Hardison insisted, sitting down next to Parker on the couch. "Believe it."

"We've gotta do something special," Eliot said. "New menu. New something."

"A special event," Parker said. "Ooh, a dance. Eliot said he never got to dance with us."

"Queer prom," Hardison said. "I love it." 

"Gonna feel weird to be a forty-year-old at prom," Eliot said. 

"Queer prom is all-ages," Hardison said, taking notes on his tablet. "At least from eight to eleven p.m.. After then it gets a little adult, if you know what I'm saying, and our bartenders get very busy until 2."

"Queer prom is eternal," Parker intoned. Eliot glanced at her and at Hardison, and just that same old unspoken communication made his heart thud. These were his people. This was where he was supposed to be. He felt that, now more than ever, an unexpected blessing after the years before them of cycling through one-night stands. That had been enough for him then. It had felt right. But this was something else. He'd put down roots, tangled himself inextricably with these two people, and whatever happened, nothing would separate them. 

"Hey," he said. They turned to look at him. "We should do something special for ourselves this summer."

"Vacation?" Parker asked. "We haven't been to Iceland for a while."

"No," Eliot said, getting off the couch and kneeling on one knee in front of them. "Maybe I can't marry you. But I can still pledge myself to you." 

Parker was clutching Hardison's hand. Their eyes were wide. 

"I haven't ever really been the kind of guy who wanted to settle down," Eliot said. "There was always something bigger to do. But I guess it happened while I wasn't looking. Will you, Parker, and you, Hardison, be my partners for the rest of our lives? I don't know much anymore, but I know the two of you matter more than anything else to me. I know I couldn't go on without you and I wouldn't want to. I know I love you, body and soul." He bit his lip. "Can we belong to each other?"

"We already do," Parker said. She had one hand over her mouth and the other still clutching Hardison's. She was crying and so was Hardison. "Oh," she said, fanning her face. "Happy tears. Always something new to feel."

"Yes," Hardison said. "When it comes to you, the answer was always yes." 

"We can have a ceremony," Eliot said. "I was thinking during Pride. That gives us time to plan. I know the two of you love to plan."

"Oh, oh!" Parker said. "Before the queer prom! It can be like our secret reception. We can celebrate with everyone. And then honeymoon in Iceland. I want to ride the ponies."

"I love it," Hardison said. "Now get the hell up off your creaky old knees and come kiss your fiancés."

"I can do that," Eliot said, and he did.

\+ + + + 

They closed the Bridgeport for the hours before queer prom. "Private Event" said the gold lettering on the sign on the doors. Parker had actually hired decorators to realize her vision. "There's only so many ladders I can climb at once," she'd told them.

Eliot and Hardison had looked at each other. "Is it...is it more than one?" Hardison had asked. 

Parker had laughed at them. "I mean, my record is five, but those were extraordinary circumstances," she'd said. "And it depends on how you count 'ladders climbed'."

"I really love her," Hardison had told Eliot. "It just warms my heart to hear stuff like that, even after all these years."

"I know how you feel, man," Eliot had said.

The other benefit of hiring decorators was that they had brunch with Nate and Sophie in the apartment, and that after they were finished, their responsibilities involved getting dressed instead of trying to tack miles of chiffon to the ceiling. Eliot and Hardison had new tuxedos. Hardison had insisted on it. They'd had to go to an actual tailor shop and get measured. Hardison had debated the merits of what looked like a hundred different samples of grey wool before settling on a dove merino for their fabric. His tux had a shawl lapel, apparently. Eliot's lapels looked pretty normal, but Hardison said meant they were peaked, to lengthen Eliot's silhouette, whatever that meant. They both had waistcoats instead of cummerbunds. It just looked like a vest to Eliot, but he could accept there were areas where he'd always be wrong. That was fine. There were plenty of things he was the authority on.

Parker insisted that they all get dressed in different rooms. "We have to," she said. "It's a wedding law."

"She's right," Sophie said. "I mean, it's not a law exactly, but it's a custom."

"I already know what his tux looks like," Hardison protested. "I picked it out."

"I've been reading wedding blogs," Parker said. "It's bad luck to see each other before the ceremony. We can't start the rest of our lives together with bad luck hanging over our heads."

"If that's what you want," Eliot said. "I didn't know you were so superstitious."

Parker looked at him like he was ridiculous. "All thieves are superstitious." Sophie nodded agreement. 

"What if I need Hardison to tie my bow tie?" Eliot asked.

"That is a concern," Hardison said. "His fingers aren't the most nimble after all those beatings. Now mine, on the other hand...."

"Watch a video!" Parker said and stomped off, carrying the bag that held her dress.

"Or Nate can help you," Sophie said over her shoulder, following Parker.

"I'm going to go check on the decorations," Nate said. "I don't think you'll need me for a while. The tie is a last-minute detail." 

"Great, thanks," Eliot told him. "Hey, the bartender knows better than to offer you any booze, but ask them for the new mocktail. I think you'll really like it."

Nate waved his acknowledgement and left. 

"I don't think he really likes weddings," Hardison said. "Despite getting married twice."

"Some people don't," Eliot said. "I'm gonna go get dressed. I'm not offending any thief gods today. Or thieves."

"Yeah," Hardison said. "Hey, are you feeling the jitters too? Because I feel like I drank about four shots of espresso with lunch."

Eliot nodded.

"It's going to be okay, right?" Hardison asked.

Eliot set down his tux and opened his arms. "Come here." Hardison stepped into his arms. "It's going to be fine. It feels big because it is."

"Biggest mission of our lives," Hardison murmured into Eliot's hair. "Saying some words."

"Opening our hearts," Eliot said. "Disarming all the alarms for someone else to walk right in and steal anything we've got left, even though we've given them everything. Sounds pretty terrifying to me."

"When you put it that way," Hardison said.

"Can I just say before all the public stuff," Eliot began, "that I would absolutely not be the man I am today without you. When we got together, I was still such an asshole about all the queer stuff and you were so patient with me."

"It wasn't like I never went through it," Hardison said. "I used to be that asshole too. Maybe not that big an asshole, but I had my own shit to deal with. I just had the chance to process most of it earlier. Pay it forward."

"I had more baggage than a lot of people," Eliot said. "I held onto it longer and I wrestled you for it some when it felt like you were taking it away. That wasn't fair to you. I don't want to start the rest of our lives without acknowledging that. I can't just play Robin Hood in our work and then come home and not tell you that I _see_ you, doing your best every day to make the world a better place. I'm sure there were times you thought I would never understand that yes, a Black man's experience of the world is different than mine no matter how much we share. A bisexual man's experience is different than a straight man's and I don't get to just choose the one I have because of the way people look at me. The list goes on and on and I can't pretend I've mastered all of it, but you taught me to listen instead of just running my fool mouth. That's a gift I can never match. I'm glad I have the rest of my life to keep trying, though."

"You cannot make me cry before this ceremony, man," Hardison said, clinging to Eliot.

"I had to say it," Eliot told him.

Hardison sniffled. "You have a speech like this for Parker?"

"Different speech," Eliot said. "More in it about mountains. She just ran away before I could lay it on her."

"She's smarter than I am sometimes," Hardison said, pulling back just far enough to press his forehead against Eliot's. 

"I'm just glad you geniuses put up with this numbskull," Eliot said.

Hardison laughed through trying to keep back tears. "Baby, you were never just a hitter. You showed up like a mint-in-box miracle. And yeah, that's nerd shit, but what most nerds need most is someone who makes them explain their nonsense, and that's you. I don't know how many times you've saved my ass over the years just by asking the right questions. You see a problem and you want it fixed. You're like our knight in shining armor. And you paid it forward too. I saw you with those theater kids and with so many other people who have come in here. You being yourself and being there for them mattered." He cupped the back of Eliot's head. "We make each other stronger. It takes all of us."

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Stronger together."

"That's right," Hardison said. His phone beeped. "And if we don't start getting dressed, Parker is going to kick our asses into the river and that's a guarantee."

"Well, go, then," Eliot said, his arms still around Hardison.

"You go," Hardison said. "I like it here." 

They swayed for a moment and then Eliot tipped his face up for a kiss. "First one to get dressed gets to smash cake on Parker's face at the party."

Hardison bolted.

Eliot started to go to his room and then turned on his heel. He knocked on the door to the bedroom they shared. "Parker."

"Go away!" she said. "You can't see me."

"I don't need to see you," he said. "I just need you to listen."

"Don't forget that I'm in here too," Sophie said.

"I know," Eliot said. "I don't mind. Parker, are you listening?"

She didn't say anything.

"She's listening," Sophie assured him.

"When we went up that mountain to find that lady's husband," he said, "that's when I knew for sure that you were stronger and braver than me. I already knew you were prettier and smarter." He paused. "It was cold and the visibility was terrible and it was so windy I had problems staying on my feet, but you never complained. And when we found him, you wanted to bring him with us, even though he was long gone. You were ready to risk your life for love, Parker. I'd never done that. I'd risked my life out of loyalty or for money or just sometimes because I didn't like myself very much in that moment, but I'd never been ready to put myself on the line for love. And it wasn't even your love. Just so that someone else could see their husband again. And I had to talk you out of it, because I wasn't trading your life for anyone's. I told you we were different from the others. I told you we made the hard choices that the others couldn't make."

There was a small noise behind the door, and a rustle of fabric like she was right there, pressed up against the wood. 

"We do make the hard choices, Parker," he said. "We have that steel in us, you and me. We can cut through all the rest of the noise if we have to, and focus on the one thing that matters. And the one thing that mattered to me was getting you off that mountain alive." He sighed shakily. "I know you've felt sometimes like you had to play catch-up on all the emotional stuff, but you've never not known what was good, Parker. You've never not known what was right. I had to learn, but you already knew it in your bones. And you've never not done something with your whole heart. I mean, look at you. You jump off a building. You fall in love." He took a deep breath. "It's an honor just to be there to catch you."

On the other side of the door, there was a shudder pause.

"Dammit, Eliot," Sophie said. "You are a menace to mascara. I'd just finished her eyes. I knew I should have use the waterproof."

"I love you," whispered Parker through the door. Eliot laid his palm against the wood, knowing she was doing the same on the other side. 

"I love you," he said. 

"Good," Sophie said. "Wonderful. You love each other. Take this wipe and go wash your face so you can tell everybody else." The rustling sounded like she was moving Parker away from the door. "Eliot?"

"Sophie."

"That was a hell of a speech," she said. 

"Thank you," he told her.

"Go get dressed," she said. "And for the record, the things you've done, especially the things you've done for us — they haven't tarnished your heart. You're just as golden as you believe they are. You do deserve them."

Eliot's eyes prickled. "I try to."

"Sweet boy," she said fondly, and then he could hear her moving away. He let his fingers slide off the door and went back to the other bedroom where his tux hung in the closet where Parker had put it.

Putting on the tux was a half-familiar ritual. Eliot had worn one before, but not often. Still, he'd seen it a thousand times in movies and at weddings: the studs for the shirt, the cufflinks for his cuffs, the layers of fabric to smooth and tuck. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a happy man. It was a nice change. Maybe he'd never have clean hands again, but the good he'd done in the last decade and a half had scrubbed some kind of corrosion off his soul. Or maybe that was what love did.

He'd never expected to be forty. He'd never really expected to be married either, despite the path his younger life had set him on. A real man raised a family, went to church, was a pillar of his community. He couldn't say he'd done any of that except maybe the last part, and that wasn't the community his dad had expected. Or maybe he had. Maybe he'd always known and that was part of all the reasons Eliot had left. 

It didn't matter now. He'd built a new family, one with deep enough foundations to last a lifetime. 

He did need Nate's help with the tie. His fingers were stiffer than they used to be. Nate fussed over him like Eliot was the ring bearer instead of a groom. He raised his glass to Eliot.

"You're ready," he said.

"We wouldn't be here today without you, Nate," Eliot said, clapping him on the shoulder. "I can't tell you what all of that means to me."

"Oh," Nate said in that way he had of brushing off people's feelings, like he was afraid they'd stain his suit. "You might have found your way to each other."

"No," Eliot said. "We wouldn't have." And he'd be in his grave right now, probably. Parker would be on a roof. Hardison would be pulling the strings of the dark web from his Nana's basement. 

"Yeah," Nate said, softening. "I know." He nodded at Eliot. "You're welcome."

It seemed like the whole dining room was softness and sparkle. The decorators had transformed the place. There were flowers everywhere, little tables with chairs scattered around. They weren't having many people at the wedding. It was Nate and Sophie, Tara and whoever she brought, Jane and their closest game night friends, a few of Hardison's orc comrades and Eliot's service buddies, and Peggy had brought Hurley. On the other hand, the tickets for the queer prom had sold out almost immediately. It would be a big night for them, twice. Eliot was proud as he looked around the Bridgeport. His place. Their place. Maybe it was hard sometimes, but it was always honest work, and there was a beauty in that that satisfied something deeper in him than money had ever touched. He opened the door and let the first guests in. 

"How do you still look like a cop when you're wearing a tux?" Jane asked. 

Eliot shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess." 

She looked him over. "You're missing something." She snapped her fingers. "Boutonniere. Flowers. Where?"

"Oh, right." He bent to get the box out of the bar fridge. Inside was a pale purple rose backed with a spray of baby's breath.

"Classy," Jane said approvingly, pinning it to his lapel. She tidied the edges of his pocket square. "Now you're ready."

"Thanks," he said. "It's funny the things you end up needing help with."

"That's life," she said. "Nobody can do it all." She studied him for a second. "You know, you're not a bad guy, Eliot."

"I appreciate that," he told her.

"You were kind of a jerk when we met, but your heart is good," she said. "I know you. So whoever else in your life told you you needed to do penance for something...that person's wrong."

Goddammit, he wasn't going to cry before the ceremony either.

"I think there are people who would disagree with that," he said, "but it's nice to hear that you think I've reformed." 

She shook her head. "I know you were in the military. I think I know you did other non-military stuff after that. I'm sure you had to do and see some truly next-level shit, one way or the other. I can't really speak to that. But sometimes the next-level shit needs doing, because that's the world we live in. I'm not unaware that we need people who will do it."

He ducked his head. "The things I've done, though — Jane, my hands will never be clean. Not in a hundred years."

She nodded slowly. "Even if you've got dirty hands, I think you want to be on the side of the angels. All you can do is take one step after the other toward the light. I see you doing that. And if you stray from that path, I'll kick your ass from here to Timbuktu."

"Timbuktu's not that bad," he said. "If you're there in the right season."

She shook her head. "It's an expression. Don't make me call you an asshole on your wedding day." 

He held out his arm. "Can I show the lady to her seat?"

\+ + + + 

Eliot walked down the aisle first, escorted by Sophie, to the strains of some classical piece Hardison loved from his violin days. They'd rolled a carpet out, leading up to the stage where he'd danced in drag. Later it would be a photo booth for anyone who wanted to be queer prom royalty for a night. When they threw a party, everyone got to be royalty. Eliot waited by himself, hands clasped in front of him, not even seeing any faces except the two he was looking for.

First there was Hardison, his Nana clutching his arm. She pinched his cheek as he showed her to her seat. Then he looked up at Eliot and smiled and stepped up onto the stage. They stood side by side, holding hands, waiting for Parker. Then there was Parker, escorted by Archie, supporting him more than he was supporting her. She was radiant in a pale purple dress, some fluffy, floaty creation that sparkled as she moved. Her hair was curled and her eyes were bright. She floated off Archie's arm and up onto the stage. They held out their hands to steady her. 

"First of all, we'd like to thank you for coming," Hardison said. "You may notice there's no reacher or priest or officiant here. The commitment we're making to each other today might not be recognized by the law, but it's the truest thing I've ever known. This man and this woman are everything to me. They're my shelter. They're my champions. There's not a day I wake up that they don't make better." He dabbed at his eyes. "It's been a long road and a strange one since I met them fifteen years ago, but I cherish every moment of the journey because they're by my side."

Eliot cleared his throat and took his notes out his jacket pocket. He looked up at Hardison and Parker. "Being with you has made me a kinder man, and a more thoughtful man, and a better man," he said. "When I found you, I found myself. I thought that being in love would mean a debt I could never repay, and there are ways in which that's true. But I am a wiser person and a richer person beyond anything I can measure because these two people, you two people, are in my life, and I promise to protect and treasure you until my dying day."

They were all crying now, but Parker still stepped up to the front of the stage. Her hands were clasped in front of her like an old-time school marm. "I grew up different," she told the crowd. "I didn't understand the other kids. I didn't understand the other adults when I was an adult, either." A few people chuckled. Parker smiled a little. "Everyone else seemed to have all these experience and emotions that I didn't have. That's fine, I thought. I didn't need them. I was fine on my own. And I was fine. And then I met them." She paused. She wasn't looking at any notes at all, Eliot realized. 

"I didn't see anything changing," Parker went on. "Sometimes you can't, if you're too close to the change and it's too big. And the change in my life was immense. I was alone, and then I had colleagues, and then I had friends. And then I had people I loved. And then I fell in love." She paused. "I really thought I couldn't fall in love. I thought it was beyond my capacity, something incomprehensible that only happened to other people. It was enough of a miracle that I'd managed to love people, and realized that I loved people, and to be actually _in_ love seemed like an order of magnitude of miracle beyond that." She held out her hand to Hardison and he stepped up and took it. "And then it happened again." She held out her hand to Eliot. Parker joined their six hands in a knot, each of them holding onto both of the others. "Alec and Eliot taught me I could ask for more out of life. That I deserved more. They've showed me how to love and how to be loved. Without them, I wouldn't know that there's a well inside me that will never run dry. Love isn't like money. The more I give away, the more I have, because I have them. And I think maybe there is such a thing as happily ever after."

The room was silent.

"Well, kiss her!" Sophie called out, and they did, and there was so much laughter and crying that Eliot thought his heart might stop, right there, because it just couldn't hold everything he was feeling. 

There was dinner, catered by someone else because Parker had insisted. It was the right choice, Eliot knew. His tux wasn't made for the kitchen. But it was good, and they all managed to eat some of it despite everyone talking to them. There was cake, which ended up all over all three of their faces, which was fine, because at that point it was time for them to change and for the servers to slightly reset the room for queer prom. 

They did, Eliot admitted, all change in the same room and they were, Eliot would have to say, more than a little distracted, but he didn't really think anyone would have expected any different.

The dining room looked like a club when they walked back into it. The chiffon and sparkles were still there, but the lights had been dimmed and the DJ was projecting patterns into the fog from a smoke machine in one corner. There were kids there Eliot recognized from the theater and kids he'd seen at game night for years. There were teens and college kids, young adults and older adults, Rani and Laney and Max and Levi and all of their friends. The room was packed with a rainbow of people, and yeah, what Eliot felt when he looked around the room? That was Pride. 

"May I have this dance?" Hardison said, coming up and catching Eliot around the waist.

"The Macarena?" Eliot asked. 

"Patience, baby, patience," Hardison said, taking Parker's hand and tugging her into their embrace. "The artistry cannot be rushed."

And yes, as they listened, the Macarena faded almost smoothly into the beginning of "Because You Loved Me". 

"This is our song now?" Eliot asked. "Celine Dion?"

"The diva herself," Hardison said. "Dance with me."

"This song's kind of old," Parker said. "I thought you would have chosen something more contemporaneous."

"And less...Celine Dion," Eliot said.

"First of all, this song is timeless," Hardison said. "Second of all, do you know how hard it is to find a love song that doesn't have gendered pronouns or include some kind of phrasing like 'the two of us'? Enjoy the moment."

"I'm just sayin'," Eliot said.

"He's just sayin'," Hardison said to Parker. 

"Oh, you're doing that thing again where you annoy us so you don't have to deal with your feelings," Parker said. "It's cute. Kind of." She kissed his cheek. "But today is the feelings day. You have to feel the feelings."

"Yeah," Hardison said. "Feelings. Get into it. And when you make the gesture, you can choose the song."

"All right, all right," Eliot said. "It's a good song. Our song, for now."

"That's more like it," Hardison said. 

They swayed together to the music, the three of them with their arms wrapped around each other. And it was perfect. 

"I want to take this moment and put it in a snow globe and hold it forever," Parker said. 

"We're going to make a lot of moments like that," Hardison promised her. 

"I know how to be happy," she said softly, "but I'm not sure I know how to be this happy."

"We'll figure it out together," Eliot said. 

Around them everyone was dancing and laughing and kissing and their delight almost glittered in the air. Eliot held his sweethearts close and let joy fill him past his limits.

\+ + + + 

They left the party at midnight, exhausted and delighted, changing quickly into outfits they could travel in. Their suitcases and the trunk full of gifts people had sent were already in Eliot's truck. For the honeymoon, they'd decided to start in Iceland and see how they felt after, and Nate and Sophie's wedding gift had been a chartered jet for the first leg of their journey. 

"Just leave in the middle of the night," Sophie had told them. "It feels more adventurous that way, and then when you wake up, any mess you left behind is someone else's problem. It's perfect."

"Before we go," Hardison said, pulling something out of the closet. "A little pre-honeymoon treat." He passed one brightly-wrapped rectangle to Parker and one to Eliot.

"What's this?" Parker asked brightly. 

"Wedding presents," Hardison said. "What does it look like?"

"Commitment ceremony presents," Parker corrected. "Feels like...picture frames. Did you steal us a painting?" She pushed at Hardison's shoulder. "Hardison! Did you start stealing art?"

"Open it and see," he said. 

Eliot ripped the paper off his and stared at it. Parker peered over his shoulder.

"That's not a painting," she said. "It's...it's a marriage license."

"From the state of Oregon," Eliot said slowly. "Signed, sealed, and witnessed. Alec Hardison and Eliot Spencer, joined in lawful wedlock with their mutual consent."

"What?" Parker said. She ripped the paper on her own. "Mine's from the state of Massachusetts. 'I solemnized the marriage of the above-named persons' And the above-named persons are Alec Hardison and Parker Spencer."

"I didn't know if you had another name, so I just gave you his for this one," Hardison said. "Seemed less weird than you already having my name. But you can always have mine, if you want." 

"Thank you," Parker said, her eyes shining. 

Hardison pulled a third present out from behind his back. "This one's for both of you."

Eliot and Parker looked at each other and opened it together. "'The above-named individuals were joined by me'," Parker read. "Parker Hardison and Eliot Spencer."

"Maybe we can't all get married on one piece of paper," Hardison said, "but we're still married, or at least that's what the records say."

"California, Massachusetts, and Oregon," Eliot said. "Our three headquarters."

"Yeah," Hardison said. "Massachusetts because that's where Parker and I fell in love. Oregon because that's where you and I fell in love. And California because that's what was left, or because that's where it all began. Take your pick."

"That's pretty damn romantic," Eliot said. "You gotta stop doing this stuff. Someone's gonna think you like us or something. Kind of embarrassing for you."

"Don't tease him," Parker said. "Not tonight." She looked at Hardison. "It's perfect."

"It's not perfect," he said, "but this is." He kissed her. "And my big strong man who still can't deal with his feelings is too."

"In my defense, I've had a lot of feelings today," Eliot said. Hardison laughed. 

"Me too," Parker said, "and I'm not being rude."

"This is the same dude who once hugged me ferociously, pushed _me_ away, and told me to stop, despite the fact that it was entirely his idea," Hardison told her. "The leopard can't change all his spots." He pulled Eliot close. "He comes through when it counts."

"Let's go," Eliot said, his heart as wide open as the Oklahoma sky, and as full of stars. 

"Let's go steal a honeymoon?" Parker suggested.

"Nah, baby, think bigger," Hardison said. He opened his arms. "Let's go steal the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me through a decade of Pride at the Bridgeport! This is my first long fic in this fandom and it's been really uplifting to have so much support. If you need more queer!Eliot feels, I strongly recommend [you do not have to be good.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24767848) by my forever fave 


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